Stormborn
by black.k.kat
Summary: Flashes of an unknown past haunt Naruto, entwining his steps with those of a former life no longer content to stay forgotten. It's time for Uzushio's Storm God to rise once more. (The soul of a city is a hard thing to kill. Uzushio is still aware, still waiting. And now, with the rebirth of her greatest Kage, it's time to call her people home.) SasuNaru
1. Intro: Prelude to the Storm

**Rating: **NC-17 overall, T for this chapter

**Warnings: **LOTS of clichés, gratuitous (ab)use of fanon, Uzushio feels, authorial weirdness, abuse of literary styles, genius!Naruto, slightly-on-the-side-of-super!Naruto, etc.

**Word Count: **~4100

**Pairings: **Sasuke/Naruto

**Summary: **Flashes of an unknown past haunt Naruto, entwining his steps with those of a former life no longer content to stay forgotten. There's a voice on the wind and another lifetime in his head, and it's time for Uzushio's Storm God to rise once more. (The soul of a city is a hard thing to kill. Uzushio is still aware, still waiting. And now, with the rebirth of her greatest Kage, it's time to call her people home.)

**Disclaimer: **I don't hold the copyrights, I didn't create them, and I make no profit from this.

**Notes: **This is that one story I was ranting about in chapter 23 of _backslide_, finally with some vague semblance of plot thanks to the efforts of my (amazing!) longsuffering sounding boards. It is little more than a collection of tropes I tossed in a blender, and is written entirely to satisfy my SasuNaru feels. (I have a lot of those.) So, as with _backslide_, it's more just my excuse for fluff than anything with substance. Don't go looking for deep meaning or coherency. You won't find it. Also, Naruto is vaguely OP here, and I'm aware of that.

(The first three/four chapters are kind of a rehashing of canon and therefore start off slow, but I'll try to hit the high points and not bore everyone [myself included] to tears. There will also be a big time-skip when perspectives shift once the AU is established. Again, mindless fluff. Not plotty.)

I'll be updating once a week, hopefully. Enjoy!

* * *

_**Stormborn**_

_Chapter One: Prelude to the Storm_

_[Prelude: A short piece originally preceded by a more substantial work; also an orchestral introduction to an opera.]_

There's a voice in Naruto's head, tucked in behind his thoughts, and it's always been there.

When he's little, it's simple enough to ignore, easy to overlook, because it doesn't say much and Naruto rarely understands it when it does. So he runs and plays and ignores the way people glare at him, and it's simple. Not quite easy, but close enough to count. He's a child, living first in the orphanage and then on his own, and if he's a little better than other children at chores and housekeeping and the like, he puts it down to practice when he bothers to think about it at all.

But it comes to him in dreams more than it ever does awake, and there he doesn't bother to shut it out or push it down, because those dreams are _beautiful_. There's an island under a bright summer sun, a city on the sea, with azure waters all around. A city in white and red and shining gold, built on terraces climbing from the edge of the ocean and up into the surrounding hills.

He dreams he's there, more nights than not. He dreams of walking the streets, running them with other children his age, darting through crowds of civilians and dodging groups of shinobi wearing a symbol he doesn't know, even though it feels achingly, horribly familiar and laced with regret. The children run and he goes with them, _leads_ them more often than not, and instead of the black and brown hair common in Konoha those around him have red or blond or even stranger colors.

And they_ smile_, these people. They smile and laugh at Naruto, ruffle his hair and call hello, and that's never, ever happened in Konoha before. Naruto finds himself smiling back without fear or hesitation, too, answering their waves and laughter with his own. And he runs and plays with the other children—his _friends_, and that's never happened in Konoha, either—from the time the sun rises to the moment it sets, and then goes back to a huge, stately building that rises from its surroundings like a palace.

There are other children there, some of them his friends and some only acquaintances, and they eat around a long table filled with food. Men and women in bright uniforms watch them, laugh with them, play with them, and Naruto _thinks_ that this place is an orphanage, but it's very different than the one he knows, brighter and cleaner and happier, with shinobi for caretakers instead of civilians.

So Naruto dreams of laughter and friendship and people who slip into his heart and take up space, become more precious than air and even dearer.

Then he wakes to an empty apartment that's too large for just him, cold gazes and blank stares and dark whispers when his back is turned, children who avoid him and parents who pull their families away by the hand, and it…

It aches. It stings and wrenches and _hurts_, and Naruto doesn't think this is the kind of thing you can put a bandage on and fix so simply.

But he runs and laughs anyways, an echo of his bright and beautiful dreams brought into the cold and dreary light of reality. He pretends he has friends, and he plays pranks, and runs, and he tries not to listen to a voice that pounds in his head and whispers _not home not home not home go go go go home and I'll find happiness_.

Cold eyes and cold hearts and colder loneliness in reality.

Joy and kindness and comfort in his dreams.

Sometimes Naruto wonders why he even wakes up at all.

(He's dying by inches and no one cares.)

* * *

But then someone _does_ care, and that's better. The Academy is good, and Iruka-sensei is better yet. The people there don't whisper so much, even if some of them glare, and Iruka at the very least treats them all the same. Some of the children there aren't wary of him, either, and their parents don't seem to care as long as they don't spend too much time together.

But it's worse, too, because the voice in Naruto's head is stronger there, when he's listening to the teachers. The lectures are enough to drive him mad, because the teacher will be talking about one thing and the voice in his mind fills in everything else, reams and reams of information until Naruto's head throbs and he can't remember a thing. He's always getting distracted, listening to the voice instead of the chuunin instructor, and they snap and snarl and yell at him for it, even if it's not his fault. The voice is more interesting a lot of the time, easier to understand, almost like _remembering_ rather than _learning_.

_Chakra_, someone says, and an instant later Naruto's head is full of elemental affinities and the cycles and the different classifications of strength as based on ranks and beginner chakra theory and—

In the midst of trying to sort it all out, he misses what the teacher asks and is treated to a disapproving frown.

They give a test on taijutsu theory, and Naruto looks at the questions and suddenly recalls a hundred different forms and their respective katas, the most appropriate applications depending on the situation and the history behind each sequence and—

His test is turned in mostly blank, with a series of stick figures in action poses doodled along the outside edges. (The teachers, being unfamiliar with the originating style, never notice that it's an A-rank taijutsu kata from a city lost decades ago, and mark down zeroes with a shake of their heads.)

("Smart," one of the older instructors tells Sarutobi grudgingly, when he asks. "Well-read, I think. Certainly knows more than most, but he's lazy. Not applying himself."

Sarutobi, too busy to be anything but a slightly distant grandfather figure, sighs and rubs his eyes. Minato was a genius, after all, and it's only to be expected that his son has at least a little of that. But Naruto is still a child, still unaware of what he is, what he _could_ be, and Sarutobi isn't about to push him. Let the boy have as much of a childhood as he's able. He's going to be a shinobi, so it will likely be shorter than most, regardless.)

The classes on sealing are the worst of all. Naruto sits through the first three, but only just, because the voice in the back of his head is growling _no no no that's not right that's not how it works what are you saying you idiot_ and the urge to say it out loud is all but overwhelming. But, even though he's inexperienced in dealing with other people outside of his pretty dreams, Naruto already knows that his opinion is far from appreciated by this teacher, and instead looks away, plans pranks and focuses on other things instead.

Needless to say, he fails that unit, too.

Kunai and shuriken come easily enough, because that's simple—he listens to the voice, to the hours of practice he's put in both in dreams and in reality, the understanding of his own body that comes from dream-memories of training. He's got a special flair for senbon, too, an almost unnerving accuracy for a nearly-twelve-year-old that lets him hit the target in the center every time. It's better, like that, because while there's a basic stance everyone is different, and throws just a little bit differently, and Iruka-sensei doesn't try to make him change the way he does it. In fact, Iruka-sensei grins at him, reaches out and ruffles his hair and says, "Good job," with so much warmth that Naruto freezes, not used to hearing it outside of dreams.

He grins back, wide and bright and delighted, and thinks, _precious_.

* * *

He darts through bright streets, a colorful market swarming with people, the weight of his hitai-ate on his forehead and the smell of the ocean in his nose. Blond hair sways around his shoulders, the tie lost somewhere between here and the shinobi housing where he lives, and one woman with crimson hair laughs as he flashes past, waving a hand to call him closer.

"Arashi-kun!" she calls. "Wait, wait, you'll never get anywhere with your hair in your face like that!"

Naruto—or Arashi, maybe, or possibly both of them—stumbles to a halt, then ducks back with a bright grin and slips around her stall with its display of beautiful hair ornaments. "Thank you, Mio-san," he says dutifully. She's tall and pretty with callouses on her fingers from kunai, her brilliant hair pulled up in a neat knot, and she clucks her tongue when she tugs him close.

"Of course, Arashi-kun," she says, blue eyes sparkling as she pulls out a brush and runs it through his hair. "Are you late today? Have you eaten?"

"No, Mio-san. Saehara-sensei gave us the morning off, and I ate at home." Mio's not his mother, is only distantly related—cousins, or at least that's what she says, though in reality the Uzumaki clan is large enough that it's possible they're hardly related at all—but she acts like it, and Naruto, who gets the same treatment from the majority of people on the streets, has long since learned not to protest.

He does regardless, though, when she picks up a pair of hair-sticks with needle-sharp points and a string of golden bells on them. "Mio-san, I don't have money for that, and you can't—"

"Hush," she says fondly, pulling his hair up into a twist and sliding the ornaments into place. The bells chime softly as she brushes her fingers over them. "They're mine, so I can do whatever I want with them. And besides, they're a good backup weapon for a shinobi, don't you think?" She winks at him, tapping her own hair ornaments, and Naruto flushes but smiles back.

"Thank you, Mio-san," he says, reaching up to touch the slender string of bells. It's a sweet sound, cheery and kind, and reminds him of her voice. There are so many people in this dream world who are precious to him, so many near to his heart that it's very close to the whole city, and he loves them. Loves this place, so different from the waking world.

Mio smiles at him, placing a hand on his head. "Anything for our future Uzukage," she says, and though the words are amused they're not patronizing in the least. Hopeful, maybe, and for Naruto, who's used to mockery and derision whenever he tells someone beyond Hokage-jiji or Iruka-sensei about his goals, it's the absolute best thing in the world.

"Arashi!" another voice shouts, rising above the din of the market coming awake, and Naruto turns automatically—he's been living in this dream-world every night for as long as he can remember, and now that name is just as much his as Naruto. There's a rare dark head bobbing and weaving through the crowd at a run, and a moment later a boy his age ducks a pair of men carrying a crate between them and latches on to Naruto's arm with a grin.

"Arashi, there you are! You're late!" he says. "Come on, let's go!"

"Kagami!" Naruto protests, letting his best friend pull him away with a laugh. He waves at Mio, who watches them go with an indulgent smile. "Kagami, you didn't tell me a time to meet you! How was I supposed to know?"

Kagami rolls his dark eyes. "Matches start at eight," he counters. "Don't you want to see all of them? And as the genius student of the Nidaime Uzukage's niece, shouldn't you be able to figure out the Jounin Exams schedule?"

Naruto restrains an eye-roll of his own, even as he breaks into a run with Kagami at his elbow. He waves to a white-haired man selling bread, and then a pair of blue-haired kunoichi standing at the market's western gate, who laugh as they rush by. "And as the eldest son of the Uchiha clan's greatest diplomat and ambassador, shouldn't you act more respectable?" he counters, then sidesteps a woman carrying baskets of flowers, takes a running leap, and springs up to the tiled rooftop above.

A moment later, the Uchiha joins him, looking faintly disgruntled. "What my father doesn't know can't hurt me," he mutters, but is gone before he even finishes the thought. Naruto paces him, headed for the arena by the southern wall where he can already feel chakra rising and swelling like the tide.

They laugh as they race each other, leaping across gaps and sliding down inclines, putting as many acrobatics into their leaps as possible. Kagami has been in the city for three years now, and every one of those he's spent as Naruto's best friend. Naruto has other friends too, of course, but none with whom he shares this edge, this push for competition and drive to get stronger. Rivals, that's what they are, rivals and best friends and everything in between.

(Sometimes, in the waking world, Naruto looks across the classroom at a sullen boy in Uchiha blue, his clan's symbol emblazoned proudly on his back, and…regrets. Because Kagami is—was?—so very bright and full of life, and in comparison Sasuke is just…dulled. Flat and grimly sad and it makes Naruto think of the difference between his dreams and his reality, between a shining city on the sea and Konoha amidst its forests. Makes him think of having precious people, many, many of them, and then waking to find that only two exist at all.)

* * *

When graduation comes, and the exam is held, Naruto raises his hands to make a bunshin and automatically starts the signs for a bunshin of his own creation, one he practiced just this morning in the dream. Wind and water wrapped up together, durable when summoned and explosive when released, and it's only at the last moment that Naruto recalls where he is, realizes that that is perhaps not the best jutsu to use in an enclosed classroom, and fumbles.

Disaster, he thinks, staring at the misshapen, awful thing he summoned. And to make it worse, Iruka-sensei yells at him, and he _fails_, fails like he did last two times he tried to take the exam, because he _always _defaults to his own Storm Clones and has to correct at the last moment, or gets overwhelmed when he looks at the test questions, or writes something he _knows_ is correct but that disagrees with what his lectures said.

Iruka looks so disappointed that it's heartbreaking.

_He's the only one who failed_, the parents whisper when they come to fetch their children, voices low but not quite low enough.

_Well, that's a good thing. He shouldn't become a shinobi. Since he is—_

_Shh. We're not supposed to talk about that._

Naruto pulls his goggle down, tries to remember only dinner with Iruka last night, the man's rather awkward kindness. Tries not to count the minutes until he can go home and go to bed and dream, dream of another world where _everyone_ is precious to him.

_I just…wish I had graduated._

_In that case_, Mizuki says to him with a smile, _I'll tell you a special secret._

_Don't trust_, the voice in Naruto's head whispers, but for the first time in a very long while, he forces it back, shuts it out completely until he can't even hear a trace of it.

He can't live in dreams forever, after all.

(But that evening, when he closes his eyes for just a minute before going to steal the scroll, he dreams of being a genin with a strange and yet familiar symbol on his hitai-ate, of a jounin sensei who grins at him and calls him a genius and ruffles his hair, of a girl and a boy who train with him and grow with him and urge him on even as he does the same to them.

Naruto wakes with his cheeks wet and a pulsing, throbbing ache in his chest, and even though the voice is silent the quiet is no comfort. _I want that_, he thinks, and then promptly pushes that thought away, too. He's long since given up on wanting truly impossible things.)

* * *

He dreams out of order, sometimes, though they're usually only little flashes, moments here and there. Dreams of looking in a mirror and seeing a grown man looking back, a man with long blond hair wearing pale blue robes and a pair of hair ornaments with golden bells. Of a woman with red hair pulled up in a tail and a pair of glasses, shaking her finger at him even as mirth glimmers in her eyes. Of years and fights and creating jutsus that he _knows_ when he wakes up.

He doesn't use them in class, doesn't even try, because it's just a dream, right? Just…a fantasy.

(But sometimes Naruto isn't so sure, because he dreams of being that man and going to meetings, having people bow and smile and murmur "Sandaime Uzukage Uzumaki Arashi", dreams of reading letters bearing the newly appointed Hokage's seal, signed with the name Sarutobi Hiruzen. Dreams of talk of war and then actual war, of going out onto the sea like walking on dry land, each step steady even with a fleet of boats darkening the horizon.

_The Storm God of Uzushio_, they call him when he summons wind and waves and tears an entire army apart. And they cheer for him, when he comes back at an even, measured pace, stepping onto the shore only to have the woman with the red ponytail throw herself at him and hug him tightly. Only to have Kagami push his way through the crowd that's gathered and punch him in the shoulder, then wrap his arms around him and pull him close.

"Idiot," his best friend calls him, and Naruto laughs at him even as he hugs him back, even as he tries not to remember the screams as he ripped that fleet to pieces.

"As the Sandaime Hokage's preeminent and most trusted diplomat, shouldn't you not talk about the Uzukage that way?" he asks in amusement.

Kagami snorts. "As the revered and much-loved Sandaime Uzukage, shouldn't you know not to take idiotic risks by now?" he retorts. "Uzushio has barrier seals for a reason, doesn't it? You could have let Kiri just—"

"Run up against the barrier?" Naruto finishes for him, and he can _see_ the seals that Kagami is talking about, careful and intricate and infused with the blood of every shinobi family in the village. He pulls back and meets the Uchiha's dark eyes, and his own gaze is steady and firm. "No. Uzushio isn't ready to withstand a siege, and I will _not_ let them get that close. Not to my people."

With a weary, long-suffering sigh, Kagami lets him go and shakes his head, rolling his eyes just faintly. "Fine," he says. "But if Kiri is making a move against Uzushio—"

Naruto nods, plans already clicking into place, courses of action and probable outcomes and strategy whirling through his brain. This is no time for his usual impulsiveness, not with an entire village depending on him. "We'll need Konoha," he agrees, knowing what his friend was going to say. "And we'll have to move quickly. Uzushio's location is good for defense, but we're also cut off from help here."

"I can be gone by morning," Kagami offers, closing his fingers around Naruto's wrist in a loose clasp and meeting his eyes. "Four days to Konoha, and then four days back, and probably a week in between to gather forces and hash out the politics. You can last that long?"

"Uzushio won't fall so easily," Naruto answers, twisting his hand to lace their fingers and giving a light, reassuring squeeze. "If worse comes to worst, I'll let Kiri wear themselves out on the barrier and then send my jounin out to clean up the mess."

"We'd all appreciate the chance to actually get off our asses and enjoy your leftovers, Uzukage-kun" Ookami Shunka puts in, smiling as she approaches. She's the jounin sub-commander, from one of Uzushio's smaller clans, and is carrying a scroll that she waves at Naruto. "I've got the rosters of all jounin available and fit for action. Should I start drawing up battle squads?"

Naruto nods, even as he rolls his eyes at her. "I've heard," he says dryly, "that the other Kage actually get _respect_ from their subordinates. Isn't that a novel idea, Shunka-san?"

The silver-haired kunoichi grins cheekily at him. "We respect you, Uzukage-_sama_. Every one of us. But we also love you, and of course that's going to make us impudent once in a while. You're like a little brother to half of our forces, and an older one to the rest of them. Get used to it." Putting words to actions, she smacks him over the head with her scroll and then turns away with a lazy wave, sauntering off into the crowd.

Naruto sighs and rubs the lump forming on his skull. "I should have just become a fisherman," he bemoans. "I'd probably get more respect that way."

Kagami snorts. "Never," he promises, slinging an arm over Naruto's shoulders and knocking the sides of their heads together fondly. "We'd all pick on you just as much then. Maybe even more, because you'd be an _awful_ fisherman."

But he's smiling, and even though there's timber just starting to drift in on the tide, timber and sails and scraps of cloth and the faintest hint of red, Naruto smiles back.)


	2. Intro: Traitor's Exposition

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **more genius!Naruto, OC death, etc.

**Word Count: **~4100

**Pairings: **Sasuke/Naruto

**Disclaimer: **I don't hold the copyrights, I didn't create them, and I make no profit from this.

**Notes: **Yes, I'm aware that Arashi is what everyone thought the Yondaime's name was before the big reveal, but it also means 'storm' and was therefore too good for me to pass up. Sorry for any confusion.

WEEKLY UPDATES, YO. Every Tuesday, as far as I can plan for. The 4k-words-every-other-day thing with _backslide_ kind of took over my life, and I've got a couple of things I want to work on besides this. So hopefully this schedule will give me time to live _and_ time to write, what an idea. :P

(Also: PLEASE STOP PICKING ON MY USE OF THE PRESENT TENSE. Damn it, people, I'm not a native English speaker and unless you want to muddle through twelve or fourteen random tense changes per chapter, suck it up and deal. Or move on to the next fic, also an option.)

* * *

_**Stormborn**_

_Chapter Two: Traitor's Exposition_

_[Exposition: The first section of a movement written in sonata form, introducing the melodies and themes.]_

"Twelve years ago…you know about the demon fox being sealed, right?"

Naruto is only twelve, only a student and a rather poor one at that, but he knows.

In this at least the voice is no help, gone silent the way Naruto has noticed it usually does when dealing with things from the last few years. So he pauses, watching Mizuki warily. He knows the Shadow Clone technique now, which is a bit of a comfort, and while it's still not as comfortable as his Storm Clones it's at least an ace in the hole.

Not that he needs much of one, he thinks, watching Mizuki grin and sneer and posture, while his mind races ahead and calculates odds. They're good.

(Because Naruto might just think they're dreams, might just dismiss what he learns there, but he still _learns_ it. He might be a genin, but somewhere tucked away beneath the everyday thoughts the knowledge of a Kage is sleeping, just waiting to be called upon. A great Kage, even among his peers, and Naruto, genin or not, has lived two lives. One in the day, village prankster and pariah, and one at night, genius and favored child for all that he's still an orphan, still a loudmouthed and impulsive brat. And then there are the flashes, the little snatches of time when he _is_ the Uzukage, strong and proud. Two lives, overlapping and tied together by Naruto himself, and even if they're just dreams they still have sway, influence. And that's enough to push these odds strongly in his favor.)

And then Mizuki laughs at him, sneers gleefully and says, "The rule that says no one is allowed to talk about how you are the Kyuubi no Kitsune."

_Mito-sama_, Naruto thinks automatically, and for once he can't tell if it's him or Arashi. Maybe there's no difference between them at all, really. Just memories, and this one—

_Jinchuuriki_, he thinks, and that explains everything. Everything he's ever wondered about, and then more besides. All the stares and whispers and children pulled away by the hand, all the cold looks and glares and little bits of cruelty that he's never quite been able to understand. The word resounds in his head like a bell, like the bell that would chime across Uzushio to tell the hour. And surely, surely, if this is true—because he knows that word, _jinchuuriki,_ knows it as well as he knows Mito's name and understands all that it stands for, all that it implies, and if what he remembers of that is true then maybe everything else is true as well.

That thought is…breathtaking.

(_I killed_, he thinks in faint, fraught horror, remembering bodies on the tide, blood staining the sea as his storm clouds gathered and the ocean raged at his will. _I killed them all_. _I've never killed anyone, but I killed an entire army. What does that make me?_)

Then Iruka is in front of him, bleeding, injured, _dying_, and all Naruto can think is _this is my precious person. This person is everything to me. I've already lost everyone else in that dream-world, because they're never there when I wake up, and I won't let you take Iruka-sensei from me too._

He casts one last, quick glance at Iruka's face and then gathers his feet under himself and bolts. Distance, distance and the opportunity to fight, and if he comes out of this alive he's going to practice every single one of those jutsus from his dreams in the real world no matter how many people they killed, practice until they're coming out his _ears_, and then he'll never be caught off-guard like this again. Never, never have to risk losing one of his only precious people again. Never. Not the way he did in the dreams, to fire and blood and swords, with Naruto himself driven back from the front lines and cornered, cut down with treachery and ruthlessness.

Never, he swears to himself, and runs.

Mizuki chases him, chases Iruka until he realizes his mistake, and then—

"You're right," Iruka says, and Naruto freezes, ice coalescing in his chest.

But Iruka meets Mizuki's eyes, stubborn and strong, and continues, "The demon fox would do that, but Naruto is different. I've already acknowledged him as one of my best students. Maybe he isn't the hardest worker, and he's clumsy, and no one accepts him, but…he already knows what it is to feel pain inside your heart. _He isn't the demon fox_."

Just one person acknowledging it, one person out of a whole village seeing it, but…

Isn't that enough?

A flying kick, practiced so many times with Kagami that it's practically muscle memory, knocks the windmill shuriken from Mizuki's hands and hurls him to the ground, and Naruto stands over him, looking down.

"Don't," he says viciously, "_touch_ Iruka-sensei. _I'll kill you._"

And maybe it's Arashi in his head, even though the whisper is silent, or maybe it's all Naruto, or maybe there's actually no difference between them at all. But Naruto brings his hands up, fingers forming signs that are simultaneously strange and familiar, and his body splits into two. The clone leaps back until it's right in front of Iruka, even as the original Naruto drops to one knee, slamming a hand down on the ground.

"Suiton," he growls out, and feels the chakra rise in a wave. "Stormy Upheaval."

The waterfall that surges up around and behind him, then leaps for Mizuki, leaves absolutely no room to avoid it. Only Naruto, the summoner, and Iruka, sprawled right at his Storm Clone's back, are safe.

When it clears, and the water vanishes back into chakra, seeps into the ground and is gone again, Naruto rises to his feet and surveys the result. Mizuki is completely still on the ground, and from this distance Naruto can't quite tell if he's still breathing or not. Part of him—the part that remembers war and bodies and blood on the tide—hopes that he is, but the rest of him—which thinks of precious people and Iruka unable to defend himself—doesn't really care.

"You okay, Iruka-sensei?" the clone asks, stretching out a hand to the chuunin.

Iruka blinks at it, and then at its hand, and nods slowly. He takes it, letting the clone pull him to his feet, and simply watches as the bunshin offers him a grin and a sloppy salute, then leaps up the nearest tree trunk and into the air. A ripple of chakra, a thought, and Naruto turns his face up just in time to watch the clone rise above the treetops and detonate in a surge of water and wind. That should be enough to get the attention of anyone looking for him, if the earlier waterfall wasn't.

It's only then that he goes over and checks Mizuki, who's still breathing, if a little battered. He winces a bit, because that was an A-rank jutsu the Uzukage always used, and probably overkill against a chuunin Academy instructor.

"Oops," he mutters, but doesn't let it stop him from dropping to his knees and binding Mizuki's hands and feet with the man's own ninja wire.

Iruka watches him, dark eyes warm, and once Naruto is done he calls softly, "Naruto, come over here. There's something I want to give you."

The hitai-ate is a well-remembered weight, skin-warm and a little battered but all the dearer for it. Naruto reaches up to touch it, traces his fingers over the stylized leaf engraved in the center, and closes his eyes. It's not the spiral he halfway feels it should be, but—

It's right, regardless, because there's no life, no point in time where he isn't a shinobi. No time when he can't protect those precious to him the way he did tonight.

Never, and certainly not now.

(And if he has to kill for that, so be it. He'll never like it, never accept it unless all other avenues are exhausted, but…

He remembers soldiers at the gates, civilians slaughtered in the streets and blood pooling in the gutters, remembers _his people_ at the mercy of a pitiless invader, and knows.

_Anything it takes, because they're precious to me._)

* * *

"How did you do that?" Iruka asks much, much later, when they're sitting in Ichiraku with their ramen in front of them. "That jutsu—it wasn't a kinjutsu, was it? How did you know it?"

Naruto doesn't freeze, but it's close. "I read it on a scroll in the library," he half-lies through a mouthful of ramen, hoping to disguise the way his voice wants to crack. It's kind of true—he read it as Arashi, and the scroll was from Saehara-sensei's personal library. "But I never tried it before. And then that forbidden scroll had a couple of jutsus and I tried _them,_ and after that…I think my chakra control was finally good enough."

Iruka watches him for a long moment, clearly debating something. "And that clone? I've never seen anything like that before, Naruto."

He grins at that, wide and proud, because Naruto or Arashi, it doesn't matter. The Storm Clone is his, completely and fully, and no one else has ever managed anything similar. "I made that up! Isn't it awesome? But whenever you wanted me to do a clone in class I kept wanting to do that one, and since it explodes I figured it wouldn't be good. So I kept messing up."

There's no response to that, but Iruka ruffles his hair and smiles at him, orders them each another round of ramen, and Naruto assumes the subject is done with and Iruka's curiosity satisfied.

("His own invention?" the Hokage murmurs around his pipe, and his eyes aren't on Iruka, but on the portrait of his successor that hangs on the wall. "An entirely new type of clone—that's more than impressive for a boy of twelve. And he managed an A-rank jutsu without ever having attempted it before. Hm. Perhaps he is his father's son after all."

"I don't understand it," Iruka says helplessly, spreading his hands. "I've been looking back through all his work at the Academy, and it's…strange. There are some things, like kunai and shuriken and senbon, which he's amazing at. And on some of his tests the hardest questions have the right answers, while the easy ones are left blank. I just—I thought he was a kinesthetic learner, or something like that, but…" He trails off, shaking his head. "I don't know, Hokage-sama."

Sarutobi closes his eyes and leans back in his chair, considering the situation. Naruto has apparently inherited his father's chakra control along with his mother's chakra reserves, and that is a…formidable combination. There's some form of genius in there too, apparently, to be able to use an A-rank jutsu after having only ever seen it in a scroll.

But then, of course, there is the fact that Naruto failed to pass his graduation exam three times, only passed this time because of extenuating circumstances, and that is…confusing.

Perhaps it's the fox's influence coming through, but given the boy's actions tonight, his wild defense of the only teacher to acknowledge him, Sarutobi thinks that unlikely.

"Thank you, Iruka," he says at length. "Go home and rest. You've more than earned it, after yesterday."

He doesn't watch the chuunin leave, but turns his gaze back to Minato's portrait, thoughtful and a little sad.

"I wonder," he murmurs into the still air. "I wonder just how much of you is in that child, Minato. More than I had suspected, clearly."

(Very little, actually, in the end. Naruto is and always will be far more his mother's son.)

* * *

In the end, it's actually Kakashi who gives him both the idea and the proof he needs, unwittingly as it is. They're standing in front of the Memorial, staring at the names as their maybe-sensei walks away, and Sakura and Sasuke are both watching him go.

But Naruto's not. Naruto can't tear his eyes away from those neatly carved lines, those names so carefully set into stone. From one name in particular, which feels like a shot to the heart just to look at.

_Uchiha Kagami_, it reads, and all Naruto can see for an endless, breathless moment is dark hair cut at chin-length, dark eyes forever holding a spark of amusement at the world around them, a warm smile and a pale scar on a stubborn jaw. All he can hear is a relieved _idiot_ and a cheerful _Arashi, there you are!_ All he can feel is a friendly tap on the shoulder, a tight hug, the heat of fire set against his wind and water, and he closes his eyes and leans back against the post he's been tied to, thoughts spinning.

They pass, of course. Naruto didn't expect anything different, but as soon as he manages to get himself free of the ropes, he doesn't pause to celebrate. Instead, he heads for the main library, sneaking in past the woman at the front desk who has a tendency to sneer at him, and then heading for the shinobi records.

There are a lot of shinobi, and a lot of Uchiha clan members. But there aren't that many named Kagami, and only one written with the kanji _Naruto's_ Kagami used to spell his name. The scroll is old and dusty, obviously long untouched, but Naruto hunkers down in the aisle with it and rubs the grime off as best he can, leans forward to try and decipher the tiny, neat lettering in the low light.

_Uchiha Kagami, Chief Ambassador to Uzushiogakure by appointment of Sandaime Hokage Sarutobi Hiruzen, in service to Sandaime Uzukage Uzumaki Arashi. _

The date of his death is at the beginning of the Second Shinobi World War, and the few, sparse details are more than enough to make Naruto's blood run cold.

_Killed in an ambush by shinobi of Suna, in the process of attempting to reach Konoha with Uzushio's request for assistance against Kiri. _

Naruto sits back on his heels, trying to keep his breathing steady. Just like his dream, with those ships on the horizon, an army of shinobi coming to invade and destroy. Kirigakure's might, and for all Uzushio's strength is was a small village, relatively, and Whirlpool Country was equally as tiny. They were isolated and alone, even with allies on the mainland, trapped between the vicious might of Kiri and the cold indifference of Kumo.

Kagami died, trying to bring aid, and by the time anyone realized it Uzushio had fallen too.

The paper crinkles under Naruto's fingers where he's gripping it too tightly, and he blows out a careful breath. He can almost, _almost _remember it, the city's fall, its complete destruction at the hands of the Mizukage and his best shinobi. He'd try harder, but…

But he's not sure he _wants_ to remember. Not that. Not death and destruction and tragedy when for so long his dreams of that place have been peace and beauty and happiness.

But…they're not just dreams, are they?

(Those jutsus, those things that he can never bring himself to practice—they really have killed people, haven't they?)

Naruto pauses, still staring at the name written on the scroll, and then he takes a deep breath and pushes to his feet. The histories of the various countries are three rows over, and arranged alphabetically. He finds Uzushio without trouble, a handful of thick books and some scrolls, and picks the first one at random before settling down to read.

Because he's lived it through Arashi's eyes, whoever Arashi is. (_You_, that little voice whispers behind his thoughts. _I'm you, don't you see? I always have been._) Lived it and breathed it and sweated and bled for the Uzushio that exists in his dreams. But he doesn't _know_ anything, not really. He's aware of the little things, like how the market burns with jewel-bright colors in the afternoon sun, how the streets feel rough beneath his feet, how the birds rise in sweeping patterns when the storm-winds start to blow. And sure, he knows snatches of history, bits of trivia, the ninjutsu and the taijutsu and the way Saehara-sensei fought with her sword in one hand and her whip in the other, but—

But not the cold, bare facts laid out in books, and somehow, that's the kind of information Naruto wants right now. Not blood and breath and _living_ people, but a historian's words through a lens of time.

Because he remembers their unit, in class, on the five great nations and the countless smaller countries. But never in there, never _anywhere_, was Uzushio mentioned. There was never a class on a shining city by the sea, or on a man called the Storm God. No mention made of war with Kiri or the fall of an entire shinobi village. No word, no thought, and Kagami _died_ for this, for a city lost to time, and Naruto can't stand that.

Kagami died. They _all_ died, his people, or fled, vanishing into the press of life in the other nations because their own was so utterly destroyed, and that…

That makes Naruto, or Arashi, or both of them just _ache_.

_I was happy there,_ he thinks, staring down at the book on his lap. _Uzushio made me happy. I love Iruka-sensei, and Hokage-jiji, and Sakura-chan. Maybe Kakashi-sensei, too. I can probably…tolerate Sasuke, even. _

_But…I'm not _happy_ here, am I? Not the way I was there._

He shakes off the thought, but it lingers, stays with him even when he staggers up to the front desk under a three-foot stack of books. It doesn't go away, not out in the sunshine or when the moon rises or when he's meeting his team in the morning for training. It hovers, and lingers, and _stays_.

(Honestly, Naruto doesn't even try to drive it away.)

* * *

Naruto is…erratic, Kakashi thinks, watching the blond boy bounce his way down to the bridge. Kakashi himself is perched up in a tree, wanting to get a better feel for the team dynamics.

He remembers yesterday, when they had their test. Naruto had been the first to rush forward, the only one to stand out in the open and challenge him directly. His taijutsu had been…unexpected. Not Academy standard style, not a mishmash of twenty different things like he'd get from just watching other shinobi practice, but…different. Not familiar at all, but clearly a distinctive style. Clearly well-practiced.

It hadn't helped, of course. Not against a jounin. But for the class's dead-last student, it had definitely been a cut above what Kakashi expected.

And then…

Tossing him in the river was a bit of a mistake, possibly, given the report from that incident with the traitor Mizuki. He'd used a Suiton jutsu that night, summoned without any nearby source of water and strong enough to completely incapacitate a chuunin. But Kakashi had looked at the loudmouthed, brightly-clothed exterior and made assumptions, written that success off as a fluke and completely underestimated the boy, just the way he always did Obito.

And, like Obito in those last moments, Naruto had proven just how bad an idea that was.

_Suiton: Tornado of Water!_

Definitely a bad idea, Kakashi thinks with a soft chuckle, rubbing at the lump on the side of his head. Not strong enough to take out a jounin, not yet, but…with practice it will be. Practice and time and opportunity.

He likes this team a little more already.

* * *

Sasuke watches Naruto, and always has.

They're similar, after all. Not the same, but perhaps the next best thing, even with Naruto's loudness and boisterous cheer, even with his strange fumbles when Sasuke _knows_ he's actually rather capable, even with his odd, distracted air at times, as though he's listening to something no one else can hear.

"That's a powerful jutsu," Kakashi says mildly, when they're sparring and Naruto blasts through a tree with a combination of water and wind that even a chuunin shouldn't have been able to manage.

Naruto just laughs it off, rubbing the back of his head and looking away. "I saw it in a scroll," he says cheerfully, then runs off to fawn over Sakura like he's some sort of mindless fool.

"That's not the standard Academy style," Kakashi says, watching over the top of his book as Naruto knocks Sasuke on his ass with a taijutsu combination Sasuke has never seen before.

Naruto makes a disgusted face. "You didn't say we had to use the Academy style!" he protests. "Kakashi-sensei, I suck at that! Can't I use mine?"

And Sasuke remembers spars in class, beating Naruto every time, and he wonders. Wonders because there's nothing else to do, not when Naruto can walk up trees and twist water and air to his will, not when his moments of idiocy are interrupted by pure genius. Near-perfect chakra control, Kakashi has told them, and has promised that he'll teach Sasuke and Sakura at some point, but rather than gloating Naruto looks away from them, into the distance, as though he's seeing someone else entirely.

Naruto stops wearing orange three days after they pass as a team. Instead, he wears blue. Not Uchiha navy, but indigo and sky-blue and twilight-blue, paired with white and black and soft dove-grey, that spiral from his jumpsuit painstakingly stitched onto every item. He trains as much as Sasuke, daybreak to dusk, and Sasuke will sometimes meet him walking home, both of them exhausted and battered but satisfied.

They're rivals still, and even Sasuke will acknowledge that, but it's…easier. Simple. Sasuke doesn't want a friend, not now, not when he still has to kill his brother, but…

A rival he can manage. That's fine, surely. Beating Naruto, with his Suiton and Fuuton and strange but devastatingly quick taijutsu, with his mindless determination paired with brief flashes of overwhelming brilliance, will be good preparation for facing Itachi. Not perfect, but…good enough, perhaps.

(And if sometimes, when it's dark and the shadows are long in his apartment, if he rolls over in bed until he's facing away from the window and then carefully, cautiously touches his lips, remembering just for half of a second—

Well. No one has to know.)


	3. Intro: Rising Progression, Accelerando

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **canon character death, averted canon character death, Haku feels, Uzushio feels, etc.

**Word Count: **~4100

**Pairings: **Sasuke/Naruto

**Disclaimer: **I don't hold the copyrights, I didn't create them, and I make no profit from this.

**Notes: **One might notice that things are progressing fairly close to how they do in canon. (Except for the times when they don't. Shut up.) This is mainly because yes, Naruto is a genius, but he's still _Naruto._ He's got certain ingrained reaction and I'm going to milk those for all they're worth. That way, when the story really diverges, it turns into something completely new—as in, there's just enough built-up influence for Naruto to make one drastically different choice, and then it's all domino effect from there. I'm not going to stick to the original circumstances and/or events after a certain point, because there won't be any reason for them to go like that. If that makes sense?

* * *

_**Stormborn**_

_Chapter Three: Rising Progression, Accelerando_

_[Progression: The movement of chords in succession._

_Accelerando: A symbol used in musical notation indicating to gradually quicken tempo.]_

Their first C-rank is no simple escort and protection mission, not a C-rank at all no matter what Tazuna the Bridge-Builder tells them.

The Demon Brothers find them, take out Kakashi and then come for the genin, and a part of Naruto wants to hesitate, flinch back and freeze, but the rest of him has dreamed of mission after mission, because Arashi became a genin at nine and a chuunin at twelve, and has been—had been?—going on them for years already. So it's instinct to lunge forward, instinct and…something else.

Because there's a Kage sleeping in the back of his thoughts, buried beneath the everyday and mundane, and the Kage sees the Kiri hitai-ate and _burns._ It's regret and remorse and anger and fear all tangled up, resentment that makes no sense in anything except Naruto's own context. Because he remembers being Uzukage, remembers Kiri ships at the edges of the city, a traitor in their midst bringing the barrier down at the worst possible moment. Remembers Kiri shinobi slaughtering villagers, ninja and civilian alike, and—

That part of him _rages_, makes him whirl right past the clawed gauntlets and chains that the brothers use and draw his senbon, still his best weapon. Sasuke is flanking him, moving as though they've practiced this when they never have, but Naruto takes out the man on the left and Sasuke takes the one on the right, and when the smoke clears they're the ones still standing.

(Kakashi helps, but the less Naruto thinks of that lazy porn-obsessed bastard _who let them think he was dead_, the better it will be for his blood pressure.)

And when it's all over, Sasuke looks at him, dark eyes as inscrutable as ever, and nods. Just once, but it's more of an acknowledgement than Naruto has ever gotten from him before.

It's _staggering_, that gesture.

And because all Naruto has ever wanted, ever more than a rival or a friend, is for that person to look at him without contempt, to _acknowledge_ him, he grins back, wide and bright, and falls into place beside him as they head on down the road.

* * *

Sasuke steps in front of a blow meant for him.

Naruto stares at him, stares as Sasuke starts to fall, and all he can think of for one endless heartbeat is standing on the docks of Uzushio as Kagami's ship departs, waving once and watching Kagami lean over the railing to wave in return before one of the burly jounin sailing with him grabs him by the scruff and hauls him back to safety.

Naruto had laughed, then, laughed and waved until the ship was out of sight, and then he'd never seen Kagami again.

Kagami had died on the way back to Konoha, ambushed and ruthlessly cut down, and now Sasuke is the same.

Naruto hasn't blocked out the voice in his head, not since Mizuki. He's listened and accepted and it feels like a part of him, like _himself, _but right now—

But right now the _man_ he used to be is rising, right along with his grief and anger, pushing down even the flickers of crimson fury that try to escape. And Naruto closes his eyes and just…doesn't fight. He lets a whole lifetime of instinct take over, doesn't even try to resist what his body _knows_ to do, knows _how_ to do, and _moves._

"Fuuton: Godly Wind from the Mountains!"

Wind rises, and Naruto bares his teeth as he feels the ice mirrors around them straining. Immediately, even as the vortex forms, he raises his hands again. "Suiton: Water Trumpet!"

The mirrors crack, exploding outward under the sheer force of chakra and the combined jutsus. They shatter and fall to pieces, and the other shinobi—Haku, Zabuza called him, but no, Naruto doesn't want his enemies to be human, doesn't want the one who killed Sasuke to have a name and an identity and a story—is hurled backwards. Naruto lunges with all the speed he can call up, moves so fast he's nothing but a streak of blue and grey and gold, lashes out and cracks that loathed mask right down the center with a single blow.

_I hate you_, he thinks, furious and bereft and aching. _I hate you! You took another of my precious people away from me! _

And then it's that boy from the forest, staring back at him with equally bereft and empty eyes, and Naruto—

Naruto pulls his blow at the last moment, flips the senbon in his hand around and strikes with his knuckles instead of the needle, and knocks Haku to the ground.

"Why?" he demands, voice breaking. "You're from that time, but—"

And Haku tells him.

They're the same, aren't they, in the end? Jinchuuriki and child of a bloodline, both hated and feared and shunned. That's why, when Haku whispers _kill me_, Naruto sets his teeth, pulls one set of memories to the front, and darts forward too fast to see. He grabs Haku's arm, and from under his fingers black marks race out, twisting into a dark seal, and Haku's eyes flutter shut. He falls, instantly unconscious, and Naruto spins to where he can feel Zabuza's chakra.

There's a sound from the mist, voices speaking and then the chirping of a thousand birds, and a body collapses to the bridge, one soul lighter without the weight of life to hold it up.

He closes his eyes and turns away.

_I'm sorry,_ he thinks, because Haku will wake up to an empty world, and it's because he didn't move fast enough, couldn't stop Zabuza's death. _I'm so very, very sorry for your loss._

* * *

Haku weeps, when he hears, inconsolable and shaken to the core. And when Naruto goes down on his knees beside him, the other boy leans into him. He lets Naruto curl his arms around his shoulders and hold him as Naruto himself has never been held before, and…

They're shinobi. They're tools. But they're human, too, to grieve and fear and hope, and that's all they can ever be unless they cut out their own hearts. It's not good, not fine, not even close, but they're still breathing even though they're unwanted, unloved. And maybe, just maybe, they can lean on each other until they learn to stand against this cold world on their own, if they ever do.

(Kakashi makes no protest when, as they leave, Haku falls into step with them. Into step with _Naruto_, who looks at him and smiles sadly and doesn't say_ I'm so sorry. I wish you would blame me, because that would be easier._

But nothing is ever easy, and Haku just smiles sadly back, and they walk on together.

Sasuke walks in front of them and says nothing, but Naruto thinks that he might as well be walking with them, too, for all that's written in his dark eyes.)

* * *

After everything, after explanations and paperwork and medical checkups and recoveries, it's just…them. It's Naruto and it's Haku and it's Naruto and Haku, living together in a tiny apartment that's too big for one but just right for two. It's shared meals and silent sorrow, nightmares comforted by the sound of another's breathing, goodbyes and helloes and being able to say "I'm home" and receive a response.

There are still dreams, standing between them—memories, more accurately, Haku's of Zabuza dying and Naruto's of Uzushio falling—and they don't talk about those but that's okay.

Haku is training as a medic-nin, and Naruto is still a genin but with the Chuunin Exams looming, Kakashi pushing them forward in his lazy, manipulative way. They're both a little lost but not alone anymore, and that's…better. A comfort, when there are few enough of those to go around.

Naruto dreams at night, every night, another life seen in bits and pieces and broken shards, whirling through his mind too fast for him to follow though he follows it anyway because Arashi is _him_, and whatever lines he thought were between them are growing thin now, if they ever existed at all.

He dreams of being a genin, and then a chuunin, and then a jounin. Dreams of advancing and rushing and pushing himself forward, a whole city at his back, the Uzumaki clan firmly united behind a young man everyone calls a genius, but who laughs and smiles like anyone else, who devotes himself to his village without fail or hesitation. Remembers an old man with long white hair standing before him, lifting an ornate hat from his head and settling it gently on Naruto's, their blue-and-white robes of office shining under the spring sun. Remembers signing his name with the new title for the first time, _Sandaime Uzukage_ _Uzumaki Arashi._

And then he wakes up, and walks through the streets, and people whisper how he's unfit to be a shinobi, unfit to live among them like a _human_ when he's actually _not_.

It hurts more now than it did when he didn't know the reason for it, somehow. Aches and stings and smarts because he's spent twelve years in this village, growing and running and laughing like any other boy, and how, _how_ can they have watched him, seen him as a child, and still call him a demon?

Haku doesn't understand completely, but…enough. He's not deaf, not blind. He notices the whispers and the glares and how few outside of Sasuke and Sakura and Kakashi ever acknowledge him at all. Because he's kind, he never asks, but Naruto notices the way he steps forward, walks between Naruto and the more crowded sections of the street whenever they're out in public. It's sweet, and Naruto looks at him and smiles, and thinks of Uzumaki Yui with her red hair tied in a high tail, her fierce defense whenever someone put Arashi down. She had only been his assistant, as Uzukage, but she quickly became a friend. Haku would have liked her, he thinks, and grins at his new friend, who's pretty enough to be a girl and has the heart of a tiger beneath his calm façade.

"We should see if Iruka-sensei's up for ramen," he suggests, crossing his arms behind his head and basking in the late afternoon sunset.

Haku doesn't quite roll his eyes, but it's close. "How about we just make something for ourselves," he counters. "I'm sure your teacher's wallet will thank us."

Naruto gives the boy his best pout. "Ah, but Haku! Ramen is _amazing_!"

"Naruto-kun…"

That look, while seemingly placid and calm and only slightly exasperated, is one Naruto has come to realize means only trouble for him. With a sigh, he raises his hands before he's stabbed in several vulnerable places with senbon and gives in. "All right. But can we have yakitori then?"

Haku smiles at him like he's a well-behaved puppy or something, and clearly just refrains from patting him on the head. "Yes, Naruto-kun. We can have yakitori. But you'll have to help me make it, all right?"

"Haku! Don't talk to me like I'm five!"

"I would never. Surely it's all in your imagination, Naruto-kun."

"Haku!"

* * *

So it's Naruto and it's Haku and it's Naruto and Haku, and then the Chuunin Exams happen and it's Gaara too, staring across the arena with a dead eyes that only just manage to cover the loneliness and anguish that pours out of him.

Naruto doesn't need the whispering voice to tell him that this is another soul adrift in the same way he is. Two he's met so far, within a month of each other, and sometimes Naruto looks across the dinner table at Haku and wonders how many more there are. How many more children like them, cast away and unwanted, rejected by those around them and only surviving on willpower and sheer stubborn determination to live.

Too many, surely, but at the same time not enough.

* * *

Konoha wins in the short war, even though the Sandaime dies—_one more precious person lost, one more and never again, not _ever—and Sasuke is marked by the Snake-bastard, and Naruto gets dragged off to look for Tsunade.

(All he can think about is a little girl, clinging to her granduncle's hand during Uzushio's first time hosting the Chuunin Exams. A little blond girl with big eyes and a stubborn slant to her mouth, a fiery temper and a soft touch, and he wonders how Arashi knew—knows?—the future Godaime as a child until he realizes just how old she really is.)

Jiraiya teaches him Rasengan, or the beginning of it. And at night, after the Toad Sage is asleep or out on his own business, Naruto sits up in bed, missing Haku. It's strange how quickly he's become accustomed to this, to not being alone, strange and unsettling because Naruto likes to think that he's independent and self-reliant and able to stand on his own, and this…this doesn't exactly make him weak, but maybe it's the next best thing.

He remembers Arashi's grief, _his_ grief, any time an Uzushio shinobi fell. Remembers and mourns, because this is the price of having precious people, this fear and terror and open, obvious, gaping wound telling enemies just where to strike.

Not that it matters. Not in the least, because Naruto isn't going to lose any more of his precious people. Not the way he did in Uzushio, blood and flames and war and the sea stained red beneath the dawn. Not like he lost the Sandaime. Not _any_ way, not again.

He masters Rasengan in a handful of days, and there's excitement bubbling in his chest as he stares at his hand, the first time he completes it successfully. It's hard, it hurts, but there's so much _potential_. Naruto knows, objectively, that the Yondaime Hokage was a genius—everyone says so—but this…

Flexing his fingers, he grins, then slips away from Jiraiya's less-than-watchful eye to find a secluded clearing to practice in.

They call—called?—Uzumaki Arashi the Storm God for his wind, for his water. Wind comes easier, always, and Naruto calls it up in its most basic, raw form, adds it to that swirling sphere of chakra just because he can, just because he's been pushing himself, as Naruto, as Arashi, since the very first time he accepted his dreams as one kind of reality. Because he's the boy who, at the age of twelve, twisted water and wind into a bunshin just to see what it would do, and this is no different.

The resulting jutsu doesn't quite blow him away, but anyone else is fair game.

(Orochimaru comes for Tsunade, and Naruto grins. Rasengan in one hand, the tight spiral sucking up wind chakra. Suiton: Destruction Torrent in the other, and he's used this type of attack before, against Haku's ice mirrors, but this is a hundred times more powerful than a redirected tornado and a jet of water.

This is enough to stop one of the Sannin in his tracks, and if it's not enough to drop him completely, well. Soon. Naruto will keep practicing.)

Then he's dragged back to Konoha, and Tsunade heals Sasuke.

Then Sakura—the only girl Naruto has ever looked at, the only one he's ever really wanted a kind word or gentle gesture from—ignores him completely. She throws her arms around Sasuke's neck as he sits up, clings and cries and never looks over, even though Naruto was the one to save her from Gaara's sand, even though he was the one to convince Tsunade to return to the village and cure Sasuke.

Never once does she look at him, and Sasuke—

Sasuke doesn't, either. He keeps his eyes on the wall even as he rests a hand on Sakura's shoulder, as close to an acceptance of her emotions as Naruto has ever seen from him.

Naruto looks at them for a long moment, feeling his smile fade. He fixes it to his face and ducks away, out of the room and off on his own.

They don't notice him leaving, either.

* * *

That night, he dreams of death and loneliness, of being backed against a wall of the building that was once the Administrative Center of Uzushio with the Mizukage and four of his best shinobi around him. Dreams of a grim and pale-faced redheaded boy who stares at him with regret in his eyes and anger twisting his mouth.

"Reisi," Naruto says, regret of his own twisting and turning in his gut, because he _knows_ this chuunin, has seen him with his aunt Yui and thought him a polite, smart child, if quiet and reserved. "Reisi, why?"

But Uzumaki Reisi has no answer, and Naruto has no time to get one out of him, because the Mizukage closes in.

He fights. Of course he fights, but the Mizukage is fresh and has his jounin to assist him, and Naruto has been fighting for almost three days straight now and is entirely alone. There's fighting on the docks and in the streets, carefully targeted to hit the village's most vulnerable, necessary areas—administration, command, communication, medical—and no chance of any Uzushio shinobi coming to their Kage's aid. No chance of escape, not when Naruto can already feel even his Uzumaki reserves scraping rock bottom.

In the end, he dies.

And as he falls, throat cut from behind and blood a hot-wet flood against his skin, Uzushio's golden stones seem to rise up and catch him, cradling his body as he lands. It's still a hard blow on top of all the aches, but not as hard as it could have been. Not nearly.

The Mizukage huffs out a derisive laugh, though he's also bleeding heavily and entirely out of breath. With a petty sort of viciousness, he kicks Naruto's glaive, the weapon clattering away to land well out of reach.

"Our victory," the man says, and Naruto's world fades to darkness.

But not entirely.

Were he not already dreaming, he would think it a dream. Some sort of hallucination, maybe. But there's a vast sort of grief around him, something ageless and untouchable, sunk into Uzushio's very stones like the seals that were used to create her. Because the Shodaime Uzukage and the other founders drew Uzushio's stone from the sea, from within the earth in its rawest form, and then added their seals and created an entire city in the space of a month. And the seals remain, linger even now in the streets and walls and houses, in the fountains of the market district and the wave-lapped piers, present from one end of Uzushio to the other.

Normally, they're dormant. Normally, they sleep, silent and all but forgotten.

But every major shinobi family has added their blood to the heart of the city, the series of incredibly complex, intricate seals hidden deep underground that hold Uzushio together. The city knows them, recognizes their blood, and today, for the past three days, that blood has run in the streets and pooled in the gutters as Uzushio shinobi die.

Blood has power. Chakra _is_ power, soul-born and strong, and for the past three generations the seals that make her have tied Uzushio to both. Both of which have been spilled in copious amounts in this invasion.

It's enough. A spark, a flicker, and all around Naruto there's a breath, a heartbeat, a _knowing_.

_Child_, that vast voice, heartsick with grief, whispers in his ear.

_Sleep now_, she tells him as the darkness rises up like a cresting wave.

_Sleep now. The city is fallen and the people are fled, but your soul dwells here. _

_Someday, child, I will call you back, and you will come. _

Her touch is peace and painlessness, comfort and ease, and just for a moment Naruto forgets about war and sorrow and death at his heels. He closes his eyes, cradled by sun-warmed golden stones, and thinks of happier times, Kagami and Saehara-sensei and his teammates Haru and Fuyu, red rooftops and white stone and golden-brown streets beneath the sun, storms rising above the sea and immense in their power. People and moments and sights seen once but always treasured, bits of humanity amongst the tragedy.

_I will_, he promises, even as he fades away entirely. _I'll come back to you._

_I promise._

* * *

That night, when the wind rises to whisper through the treetops, when the moon sails between tattered clouds and casts its waxing light across the sleeping village, Naruto opens his eyes in bed and sits up.

The air is trembling, shivering, _singing_. His blood feels like fire in his veins, like moonlight, like star-shine. He's tense and trembling, ready to run, but run _to_ rather than _away_.

Because there's a voice on the wind, not like the one he's heard his whole life—_me_, he thinks now, with some surprise. _Oh, it was always me, wasn't it? I'm Arashi. Arashi is me_—but something deeper, vaster, overwhelming as it crests the horizon like a wave and breaks over him with a soundless thunder. It's a voice, but in the same way that the sun is a star—the word isn't nearly large enough to encompass all that it _is_.

_Come home,_ it whispers, and even that is enough to make Naruto cry out, clapping his hands over his ears. _Please, my child. I've waited so long._

And Naruto _remembers_. He remembers the way that the city sang beneath his feet, how it hummed and whirred and buzzed with life, spoke without words and felt _alive_ around him. As a child and a man and then more than ever as Uzukage, and it spoke to him. _She_ spoke to him.

Uzushio.

Uzushio is calling him _home_.

"Naruto-kun?" Haku asks, sleepy but wary, sitting up on his futon across the small room. "Are you all right?"

Naruto looks at him, this boy without roots, without a family, with only as much of a future as he himself can build with blood and sweat and effort. Looks at him and thinks, _Oh, but we're the same, aren't we, in the end?_

Looks away, slides out from underneath the blankets, and says softly, "Sorry, Haku, I'll be back in a bit. Don't wait up for me." Then he's out the window without even bothering to change out of his pajamas. Out and running, because of all the things that hold him in Konoha, only one tie is forged to be unbreakable, and right now he needs that.

(But unbreakable or not, maybe it can stretch.

Maybe he _wants_ it to stretch.)


	4. Intro: The Makings of the Triad

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Tropes! (aka the cliché that got me writing this story in the first place), some bad language, etc.

**Word Count: **~4200

**Pairings: **Sasuke/Naruto

**Disclaimer: **I don't hold the copyrights, I didn't create them, and I make no profit from this.

**Notes: **This story is going to be divided into three acts, for lack of a better word. This is the intro, ending next chapter. Then there's a bit of a time-skip (six years, give or take) and the main act starts. That's the bulk of this story. Once that concludes, there will be another time-skip and the coda.

Because I am neurotic and given to flights of fancy. Don't mind me, I'm just having fun with chapter divisions. :)

* * *

_**Stormborn**_

_Chapter Four, Intro: The Makings of the Triad_

_[Triad: Three note chords consisting of a root, third, and fifth.]_

Iruka wakes to a knock on his window and a face outside the glass, a mop of windswept blond hair and wide, almost desperate eyes.

It's Naruto, so of course he slides out of bed and opens the window, allowing the boy to slip past him into the room.

"Naruto?" he asks, trying to stifle a yawn, and this is truly a surprise. He hadn't thought Naruto even knew where he lived. "Is something wrong?"

Naruto hesitates, wavers, looking around the room and anywhere but at Iruka. Iruka -frowns, because Naruto is bold and bright and never hesitates, even when it would be better to. "Naruto?" he repeats, settling back on the bed and patting the mattress beside him in invitation. "What's going on?"

With a deep breath, visibly steeling himself, Naruto takes the offered seat and twists his fingers in his lap. "Iruka-sensei," he says tentatively, which is…unnerving. "You know you're—you're one of my precious people, right?"

Iruka looks at him and remembers that night in the forest, Mizuki on the ground and Naruto standing over him to growl out '_Don't _touch_ Iruka-sensei. _I'll kill you.' He smiles, reaches out and buries his fingers in golden hair that's longer than usual, ruffles gently because he's been in Naruto's place. He was just like this boy once, and he knows very well what it means to finally find someone you can hold dear.

"I thought so," he admits, smiling at his favorite student. "But…it's still nice to hear it. Thank you, Naruto. I'm honored."

Naruto smiles back, his usual brilliance sparking and flaring behind the expression before worry tamps it down again. He swallows, and then asks, "You're…not going to stop being my precious person if I don't…see you for a while, right?"

There have been rumors, around the village, about the Toad Sage Jiraiya taking the Uzumaki boy as an apprentice. Realizing what this is about, Iruka feels the tightness around his heart ease. Naruto is a lonely boy, clinging to what family he's made for himself, and he doesn't want to let that go. Of course he'd worry, facing the prospect of leaving the village long-term for the first time.

He wraps an arm around Naruto's shoulders, pulls the boy against his side with all the affection he feels for him, clumsiness and occasional genius and now-forgotten love of orange and all. "Never, Naruto," he promises into that mop of hair. "Physical distance doesn't matter, not when people's hearts are close. Emotional closeness beats physical separation every time. If you have to leave, I'll still be right here waiting when you come back. No matter how long it takes."

All of the tension Iruka hadn't noticed eases out of Naruto's body in a rush, and he turns to hug Iruka back, arms tight and stronger than they've ever been. "I just…I love Konoha," Naruto says in a rush, like it's a confession, and maybe it is. "But Iruka-sensei, I want them to acknowledge me. I want that even more than I want to become Uzu—_Ho_kage, but it's…" He shakes his head, as though shaking off bad thoughts, and then looks up to meet Iruka's eyes. There's something inside the sky-blue that Iruka can't recall ever seeing before, and it…alarms him, almost. Because Naruto shouldn't wear that expression, shouldn't look like that even if Iruka can't quite say what _that_ is.

"You should," Iruka says carefully, because it somehow feels like there's an entire world hanging on his words, "do whatever is going to make you happy, Naruto. Because even if the villagers acknowledge you, if you're not happy, it won't be enough. And more than anything, I want you to be strong and safe and happy, no matter what path you pick in the end."

Naruto looks away, out the window and towards the east. There's no sun yet, not even a hint of dawn, but something like a light breaks across his face and he grins. Beams and smiles and looks back at Iruka with something very like joy in his eyes, and it's…good. That's what Naruto is supposed to look like. Not solemn and sad, but determined. Joyful.

"Thanks, Iruka-sensei!" he says, wrapping his arms around Iruka's chest and squeezing tightly, then sliding off the bed and hopping onto the windowsill. He pauses there for just a moment, eyes still on the horizon, and then looks back. One last smile and he's gone, vanished soundlessly into the darkness.

Iruka stays awake for a long while after that, turning the conversation over in his head. It almost sounded like…

But no. It's a ridiculous thought, and Iruka shakes his head with a smile as he chides himself for having an overactive imagination. With a faint sigh, he turns off the light and slides back under the covers, pulling them up to his chin and closing his eyes.

Morning will come soon enough, and then he'll track Naruto down and get a complete explanation out of him.

Later. They still have time, after all.

* * *

Haku watches Naruto slide back in through the open window with an ease most genin don't possess, watches as he simply stands in the center of the room for a moment, surveying the things that have accumulated over the years. It's a look Haku is familiar with after so many years of traveling with Zabuza.

_What here is precious to me? What can I not bear to leave behind, and how much of everything can I do without?_

It's a bit of a surprise, because Haku knows that there are no missions going out, no trips planned like the one to hunt down the Godaime. And Naruto has always—always, _always_—given the impression that he was absolutely devoted to this village hidden among the leaves, to this place where his team lives and grows.

"Naruto-kun?" he asks softly, setting his scroll aside and folding his hands in his lap as he looks across at his friend. His first friend, really. First and only, because as easily as the people of Konoha accept those with bloodlines, he's still a stranger, still an outsider, and while they're polite enough he's never really going to be _one_ of them.

Naruto glances up at him, quick and slightly distracted, and Haku pauses at the look in those blue eyes. Familiar, but not. They're Naruto's eyes, but…concentrated, somehow. Distilled. Fully realized. The person behind them is more Naruto than he's ever seen before, and the look in them is…

_Mighty_, Haku thinks, because it is the only word that could possibly do that expression justice.

That's enough to decide him. With a faint huff, he rises from his futon, reaches for the small, battered pack that has served him since Zabuza first gave it to him, and starts folding his few possessions.

"Haku?" Naruto asks, sounding somewhere between confused and—just faintly—amusedly resigned.

Knowing he's already won the argument that's brewing, Haku glances up long enough to offer his friend a quick smile and then goes back to checking his senbon. "You keep looking east," he says. "And you look restless, the same way Zabuza did when he'd been in one place too long. He always said it was because he missed Kiri and nowhere else felt like home."

'_Where is your home, Naruto?'_ he does not say.

There's a long pause, and then a faint sigh before Naruto starts pulling out sealing scrolls and a pack of his own. "You could be a medic-nin if you stayed," he points out, though he doesn't sound hopeful that his argument will work.

"And you have a team here," Haku parries easily. "A team and a sensei and the Godaime Hokage wishing you the best."

Naruto pauses in his packing, stills with his eyes fixed out the window, towards where the sun will rise in a handful of hours. "Sasuke-teme and Sakura-chan will be fine," he says, and the loneliness in his tone is something Haku is intimately familiar with. It's a little boy left alone in the snow, another little boy sitting alone on a swing as parents smile and children laugh. "They're both going to be great shinobi, and they'll do well. They make me happy, and they're precious to me. But…" He trails off, shakes his head, and tries again. "Sakura and Sasuke and Kakashi-sensei and Iruka-sensei will survive without me. I'll always love them, but Konoha isn't the place that will make me happiest. That place…it _needs_ me, Haku, more than Konoha does. And I need it, too."

Haku smiles to himself, just a little, and nods, closing his pack and tying the flap securely closed. "Konoha isn't the only place to become a medic-nin," he says firmly. "And I'm hardly about to let you go off alone, Naruto-kun."

For a long moment, Naruto looks to be debating the merits of arguing further, but Haku levels a steady stare at him and he gives in with a sigh. He rubs a hand over his hair, takes a breath, and then looks up with a sweet, warm grin. "All right. Thank you, Haku. But you know we're going to have to sneak out, right?"

Haku blinks at that. Naruto has never exactly struck him as the furtive type, and sneaking off in the middle of the night is certainly that. "You…don't think they'll let you go if you ask?"

Naruto's mouth twists in momentary indecision, and when he meets Haku's eyes, he looks…nervous. "I know they won't," he admits in a rush, "'cause I'm a jinchuuriki. Every major village is supposed to have at least one, to keep the balance of power, and no matter how much they hate me they're not going to want to let me leave."

Just like that, all the pieces fall neatly into place. Haku blinks rapidly, sorting things out, and comes across a memory of a grim, redheaded boy. "Gaara-san too?" he asks.

Naruto studies his face for a moment before his shoulders relax, the tight line of his body easing a little, and then he nods. "Yeah. Gaara has the Ichibi, and I have the Kyuubi. But my seal stops the demon from touching my mind unless I reach out to it. His doesn't. That's why he seems a little crazy."

If Gaara is 'a little crazy', the ocean is 'a little damp'. Still, Haku's mother raised him to have at least a touch of tact, so he stuffs the urge to say so tightly back behind his teeth and instead simply nods. He watches Naruto seal the last of a pile of scrolls into a sealing scroll and stow it away before rising to his feet, and follows the blond.

"May I ask where we're going?" he murmurs as Naruto takes one last look around.

Naruto hesitates, then turns to him, eyes flaring a brilliant blue, like the ocean beneath a summer sun. His mouth is set in a line that goes beyond stubborn, beyond determined—there's simply no room for doubt or allowance of failure in his heart.

"Uzushio," he says. "We're going to Uzushio."

* * *

They are still three days from leaving Konoha, among the last of the Suna shinobi to depart after their unconditional surrender. Gaara knows his siblings are tense and wary, walking as if on pins and cautious of every Konoha shinobi they come across, eager to return home, but…

He is not.

Perhaps it is that he has no attachment to Sunagakure, no fond memories or associations to tie him to it. Perhaps it is that for all he is a creature of sand, Konoha, with its vast swathes of green and humid air and temperate climates, has a strange allure about it. Perhaps it is that here in Konoha, rather than in arid, harsh Suna, Gaara has made his first friend.

And Naruto is still a friend, or is a friend regardless, no matter what hand Gaara had in the invasion and the destruction that followed. No matter whether he has the Ichibi whispering in his head or not. No matter how much blood he has spilled in the name of justifying his own existence. That is…very close to staggering.

Gaara leans back against the window frame, seated on the wide sill as he surveys the nighttime village. He closes his eyes and remembers a rush of wind and water, like a storm brought down to earth, remembers a hand stretched out to him when he'd done absolutely nothing to earn it. Remembers, and thinks.

Because that's what he wants, that faith, that steadfastness in the face of fear, that ability to hold someone close to his heart. He wants it even though he's never really had it in any way that wasn't a lie, not from Yashamaru and not from Temari, who tries to be kind but still flinches whenever he looks at her. Not from Kankuro, who is eternally wary. Not from anyone but Naruto, a complete stranger, with every reason in the world to hate him.

No, Gaara doesn't want to leave, even if it means staying in this place where he's an enemy, an invader. That's hardly anything new, regardless. But it's not Konoha that holds him here. It's a boy with a heart too large for him, a boy with blue eyes and a bright smile and a tempest sleeping in his soul. A boy who is just like him, but at the same time not even remotely similar.

A boy who's creeping over the rooftops right now, actually.

Gaara blinks and leans forward, narrowing his eyes at the sight of a familiar figure slipping through the shadows, furtive enough that no one else likely notices him. A beat, and behind him is someone else—that other friend, the one who had checked Naruto over so frantically when he arrived with the other medic-nin. They're both moving silently, secretively, and carrying packs.

Something…twinges. Gaara looks down at them, clearly on their way to somewhere else, and just…wants.

There's no sense behind it, no logic. He doesn't even look back at his brother and sister sleeping across the room. Just calls up his sand, careful and slow even though the ANBU who usually watch them are not present, and lets it carry him down from the window and into the street as Naruto and his companion drop to the ground.

"Uzumaki," he says flatly, crossing his arms over his chest, even though he has no aim, no reason to start a conversation.

Blue eyes settle on him, blinking in slight surprise, and then the other genin offers him a faint smile. "Hey, Gaara," he answers, and gestures behind him, where the other boy is just emerging from the shadows. Pretty, composed, and powerful, and the whisper of his chakra against Gaara's skin is both cold and foreign, though not unpleasantly so. "Haku, this is Sabaku no Gaara. Gaara, my friend Haku."

Haku inclines his head with a faint, polite smile, but his body stays entirely attuned to Naruto, clearly waiting for any cue. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Gaara-san."

Gaara nods, his eyes also on Naruto. The other jinchuuriki keeps glancing away, turning east, even though dawn is still not yet a thought. He frowns faintly, studying the blond with his pack, the sealing scrolls peeking out of the pouch on his belt, and comes to the realization in an instant.

"You're leaving," he says, and it's very nearly an accusation.

Naruto pauses, looking back at him for a long moment, and then he sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. "I am," he admits, slightly weary and a little sad. "Konoha's fine. There's somewhere else I need to be right now. Somewhere that's…home."

"Home," Gaara echoes, tasting the word as though it's something foreign to him. It is, mostly. Home is a thing other people have, a near-myth, and entirely unfamiliar. He studies Naruto for a moment, taking in the whisker-marks on his face, the thrum of overlarge chakra reserves in the air around him, and…thinks. Because Naruto is a jinchuuriki as well, and a home that will accept him means—

"They do not care that you are a demon?" he asks bluntly.

To his surprise, that makes Naruto laugh. He glances east once more, then meets Gaara's eyes squarely. "No," he answers with a faint fox-grin, tricky and sly. "That would be hard, since there isn't much left beyond rubble right now, at least on the surface. It _was_ a home once, though, and I'm going to rebuild it. One stone at a time, if I have to."

Those eyes of his are enough to wreck someone, Gaara thinks, caught in a blaze of blue that's so full of determination, stubborn certainty, that it's almost overwhelming. This home—Gaara has no idea how many pieces it might be in, but he knows, knows bone-deep and without the faintest hint of doubt, that Naruto will drag it back up from mere dust if he has to.

They are just the same, the two of them, at the same time as they are not even remotely similar. But surely, surely, if Naruto is building a home for himself and his friend, who has the same empty-lost eyes that Gaara is so intimately familiar with—

Surely that home could be one for Gaara as well.

A stream of sand slides back up to the hotel window, slips inside, and remerges a few moments later with Gaara's pack in tow. He accepts it, shoulders it, and silently turns to look at Naruto for direction.

To his credit, Naruto doesn't attempt to argue. He studies Gaara for a long moment—almost endless, beneath the weight of those blue eyes—and then asks quietly, "Your brother and sister?"

Gaara is not given to emotional expression at the best of times, but that question makes his lips twist, makes him look away as he recalls Temari's fear, Kankuro's horror and wariness just barely covered by his bravado. Maybe, maybe with enough effort he could count them as his family. One day perhaps, but far in the future. Far distant, and standing here, faced with a choice between going with the one who openly cares for him now, or returning to those who will not for _years_, if ever—

Well. It's a simple choice, even for someone like Gaara.

"East," he says instead of answering, though perhaps that's answer enough. "We are going east?"

There's a brief moment when Haku looks about to protest, but then his dark eyes grow thoughtful and he looks away again, towards the blond boy, younger than both of them, who is nevertheless undeniably their leader. Naruto meets Haku's gaze evenly, smile in place, and then nods to Gaara. "Yeah," he says cheerfully, resettling his own pack and turning away. "We'll cut straight across to Hot Springs Country and over to the ocean. There's a small fishing village there, and it's only a short boat-trip to an island just off the coast. From the island, it's not even half a day's journey to Whirlpool Country. We should be able to get passage pretty easily, since Whirlpool's not entirely isolated. And if we can't, I remember how to get through the reefs well enough, even if I _would_ make a lousy fisherman."

That last is said like it's an inside joke, with a faintly sad half-smile tilting Naruto's lips. Wistful, more than melancholy, though it certainly holds regrets.

Gaara looks at Haku, sees that he's just as much in the dark as Gaara himself, and resigns himself to curiosity, falling into step with the blond. "Whirlpool Country? I don't believe I have heard of it."

That earns him another crooked smile, though Naruto doesn't look away from the horizon and the wall that's looming before them. "Yeah," he murmurs, wry and sad and ever so faintly bitter. "Most people haven't."

* * *

(He thinks of Mito as they slip out of Konoha, right over the wall and into the forest without anyone the wiser. Thinks of Mito the last time he saw her, during one of her rare visits to Uzushio.

She's tall, especially for a woman, regal and imposing and very, very beautiful, even in her age. She is every bit the wife of the very first Kage, and Naruto-as-Arashi can read the weight of the burden she carries in the set of her shoulders, the lines in her face that speak of some vast inner war.

Naruto is just come from his appointment, the Uzukage's hat a new weight on his head, blue-and-white robes heavy with ceremony and meaning. But he bows to this woman, to Senju Mito who was once Uzumaki Mito, bows low and deep with all the respect he feels for her. Because it is a terrible thing, to _choose_ to become a sacrifice, to know everything that you are giving up and to surrender it regardless because of duty and honor. All of Uzushio knows what she did that night, knows the repercussions for all the major villages, and they revere her for it, because Uzumaki Mito is one of them and always has been. The very greatest of them, Naruto sometimes thinks.

"Mito-sama," Naruto murmurs to this woman he has looked up to since childhood, stately and awe-inspiring. "Uzushio is honored by your presence."

She looks him over, dark eyes weighty and intent, and then smiles faintly. "It is not every day that Uzushio chooses a new Kage," she says, her tone light and warm. A hand settles on Naruto's shoulder, urging him upright, and he blinks at her as she steps back, expression softening.

"Sandaime Uzukage," Mito says thoughtfully. "Another Uzumaki, though that is to be expected. And you are our youngest yet, Arashi-kun, are you not? I remember you as a genin, following along behind Saehara-san like a little duckling, so eager to learn anything she would teach you." There is a long pause as she studies him, but her smile never wavers. "And now, to see what you have become—she would be proud of you, Arashi-kun. All of Uzushiogakure is proud of you today. You will be a good leader, I think."

And then she's gone, sweeping away into the crowd with her retainers falling in behind her, and Naruto can only watch her go in awe and disbelief.

Uzumaki Mito, jinchuuriki of the most powerful bijuu and one of the greatest fuinjutsu masters alive.

Uzumaki Mito, wife of Senju Hashirama and one of the most driving forces for peace in their world.

Mito, who just told him that _he_ would be a good Kage.

He's giddy and nervous and shaken, disbelieving but so very, very happy.

And he'd though the day couldn't get any most outstanding.

"Yes, Mito-sama," he whispers, long after she's completely disappeared. He ghosts his fingers over the spiral symbol stitched onto the sash of his robe, traces the mark of their village like it's an oath. "I swear, even if it takes everything I have, I will make Uzushiogakure a name that all will know.")


	5. Intro: Closing, Calando

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **More tropes, mentions of death/dead bodies, some bad language, etc.

**Word Count: **~3900

**Pairings: **Sasuke/Naruto

**Disclaimer: **I don't hold the copyrights, I didn't create them, and I make no profit from this.

**Notes: **Hopefully no one is too OOC in this chapter. If that's not the case…argh. I'll rewrite it if too many people find problems, but I'm actually rather satisfied with how it turned out.

As stated previously, this is the last chapter of the intro section, after which there's a 6-year time-skip and I drop everyone right in the middle of things without a clue what's going on, because I love torturing people. *heart*

* * *

_**Stormborn**_

_Chapter Five, Intro: Closing, Calando_

_[Calando: Falling away or lowering, i.e. getting slower and quieter.]_

Uzushiogakure is a ruin.

Somehow, Naruto failed to expect this, failed to anticipate the true extent of the destruction Kiri's forces brought to bear on the city. He was dead for it, but that feels like no excuse at all in the face of…this.

"I have never seen such a thing," Haku murmurs at his right elbow, voice muted with horror, wide eyes taking in the expanse of rubble that stretches all the way to the shining sea.

"Yeah." Naruto smiles faintly, the expression entirely humorless. "Kiri was…thorough."

He looks out from their place high atop one of the surrounding hills, down past dull-brown debris, and somehow that feels like the biggest tragedy of all. Uzushio was always a bright city, red and gold and white, touched with Whirlpool Country's colors of sky-blue and dove-grey. Now there's little of that left, only a few scattered chunks of bright red roof tiles, a handful of spots of badly faded and tarnished gilding.

There will be bones among the rubble, Naruto knows, and wraps his arms around himself, gripping his elbows tightly to fight the shudder working its way down his spine. The bodies of _his _people, of Uzushio's shinobi and civilians, people he _remembers_. People he _knows_. His genin teammates, Haru with his green eyes and crooked smile, Fuyu with her sly and quiet humor. Saehara-sensei's grave is somewhere in there, though she died before the invasion. Yui, and he wonders if she ever knew that it was Reisi who betrayed them. Mio, with her hair ornaments and kindness and multitude of hidden knives. Ookami Shunka, grey-haired and dark-eyed, glasses forever slipping down her nose. She'd been leading the defense, the last time Naruto saw her, bellowing orders as Kiri shinobi tried to reach the hospital. He wonders how she died.

The same way as everyone else, most likely—cut down and killed, for no reason beyond Kiri's fear of the power Uzushio held.

A shoulder bumps his, a soft and glancing touch but still enough to knock Naruto out of his thoughts, and he looks up to see Gaara at his side, staring out over the ruin. His mouth is a tight line, the only crack in his indifference, but Naruto is…glad for it. Glad to show him something besides blood that gains _some _sort of reaction. Gaara needs to feel, to understand. He's shut himself off for too long, and that can't be anywhere near healthy.

"Sorry, Gaara. I was thinking," he apologizes, shifting slightly. "What is it?" Part of him wants to run, to leave and never come back to the scene of this tragedy. The rest of him…

The rest of him _burns_, _aches_, and Naruto knows that pain will stay with him until Uzushio is fully restored. There's no escaping this. He's not entirely sure he would even if he could.

"This is to be our home?" Gaara asks, tone inscrutable. Naruto can't tell if he's disappointed or indifferent or simply stating a fact.

But it poses a good question, and Naruto tries not to sigh too wearily as he moves forward, picking his way down the slope. They're already on Uzushio ground, even if they haven't reached the city yet. He can feel it in the earth beneath them, a subtle, humming thrum that vibrates through his very bones. Uzushio knows he's back, and is making her pleasure known. Haku and Gaara can feel it well, judging by the quiet tension in their expressions as they step forward, past the seal-carved stones that mark the boundary.

"It will be," Naruto says at length, brushing his fingers over one deeply carved seal. It sparks with life at the fleeting touch, a touch of chakra that sets it to glowing. There's a sharp snap, a crackle, and the spark of golden chakra leaps away to the next barrier stone, bringing it to life as well before it continues onward like chain lightning. Naruto watches it disappear into the distance, pausing to follow it with his senses. Uzushio is a large city, but even so, he can feel the awakening rush of the outer fortifications, seals designed to keep out anyone not specifically invited in by a citizen of Uzushio.

It's an easily defeated protection, as Reisi proved, but it will be enough until Naruto can rework the seals.

"A fixer-upper," Haku murmurs, his usual deadpan humor, as he follows close behind.

Were it anyone else, Naruto might take offense, but he knows Haku doesn't mean it unkindly. Hell, Haku barely has an unkind bone in his body, talk of killing his heart aside.

"Could be worse," Naruto offers, injecting a note of cheer into his voice. At the very edge of the rubble, he stops and drops to one knee, shifting a few chunks of stone out of the way to reach a curved section of pillar, thick and intricately carved. He runs his hand over it, then glances up, looking for the others like it that should be nearby. "These are the structural supports laid into every main building in each district. Theoretically, if we can get to the keystone, and provided I'm not forgetting something important in how the founders originally made this place, I should be able to…call the buildings back together, more or less. Only the main ones, but it will be a start."

"You used seals in our battle." Gaara sounds interested, watching Naruto with his arms crossed and one brow faintly raised.

Naruto winces at the memory. He'd attempted to use the reverse of the seal that he'd put Haku to sleep with on the bridge, but hadn't had time to tailor or tweak it. In the end, instead of waking Gaara up, he'd given Shukaku the sealing equivalent of a very strong caffeine boost. Definitely not his best moment. "Well, I _tried_," he offers gamely. "But these kinds of seals make that one look like finger painting. They're a huge part of Uzushio, and I mean that literally. Our Sandaime wrote these into every aspect of the village—in case of an earthquake or a tsunami, originally, but, well." He shrugs and rises to his feet, wiping some dirt off his pants. "They should work just as well now, if enough sections are mostly intact."

Haku is watching him, quiet and considering, the way he's spent a good amount of time doing ever since they left Konoha. "You know all of this, although this place was obviously destroyed decades ago," he says softly, thoughtfully. "And you keep saying '_our'_. _Our_ city, _our_ Sandaime—Naruto-kun, I thought you were from Konoha."

"I am," Naruto protests. "Or, well, I am _now_. This time around. But I _remember_ a time when I was from Uzushio, if that makes sense. She did something, as far as I can tell, to keep me from being reincarnated normally, without any memories. So it's all still up here." He taps the side of his head, and can't quite fight the smile that comes. Because it's a ruin, a wreck full of bones and bodies, but it's still _here_ and he can still feel Uzushio herself singing beneath his feet, warm and welcoming. "All of it. Right up until the second I died. And I'm not about to let my _home_ stay ruined. Not if I can help it."

Gaara looks around them for a long moment, expression unreadable, and then nods just once. "There will be too many to bury, even if we dig the graves with Doton jutsus," he says bluntly, though not harshly. "We can build a pyre and then erect a memorial afterwards."

With a sigh that makes him feel positively ancient, Naruto goes to his knees, pressing his palm against the cool, damp earth, and breathes out.

_Fuyu and Haru. Yui. Shunka. Mio. Hisoka. Shin. Everyone. _

"Yeah," he manages after a moment, and if his voice is rough, at least Haku and Gaara are kind enough not to mention it. "A…pyre is probably best. But we should find the keystone first. It will cut down on the amount of rubble we have to dig through. And I can let everyone descended from a main Uzushio bloodline know that we're rebuilding. Maybe some of them will want to come back."

Haku offers him a hand and a small, warm smile. "They will," he says firmly. "People will do just about anything for a home that's truly their own, Naruto-kun."

Gaara nods, solemn and silent, and doesn't look away.

"Right," Naruto breathes out, feeling hope and optimism rising up within his chest like bubbles of effervescent light. _Right_. Because Uzushio has been destroyed once, but she's still here, still living and waiting and holding on to her faith that he—Naruto, Arashi, either or both—can make things better. Make things _right._ He's all but promised her that he will, just like he promised Mito that he would make Uzushio into something great.

He didn't get the chance to fulfil those promises the first time, but that's what second chances are for, isn't it?

_This time_, Naruto swears to himself, taking Haku's hand. _This time will be different._

* * *

Sasuke wakes to dawn light and birds singing and a creeping, invasive sense of wrongness like a miasma in the air. He opens his eyes, stiff and still in the hard hospital bed, and immediately thinks, _Something's happened._

He sits up, taking in the room—empty, thankfully, despite Ino and Sakura's ridiculous persistence in the face of Sasuke's continued indifference—and then the quiet street he can just see through the window. There's nothing, no hint of panic on the faces he can glimpse, no furtive motions, no suspicious characters. And yet something feels _wrong_, as though the sky has somehow suddenly turned green or directions reversed—something subtle and yet jarring all at once. Sasuke is almost tempted to activate his Sharingan and see if it's something his normal eyes just can't pick up.

Before he can—though doubtless a medic will come in to yell at him for needlessly wasting chakra—the door to his room swings open, creaking lightly, and a familiar form slips through the gap, shoulders faintly rounded with exhaustion and silver hair nowhere near as flyaway as normal.

Kakashi pauses on the threshold, looking like he's aged ten years since Sasuke saw him last, a little over twenty-four hours ago, now, because Sasuke's been sleeping, his body finishing the work Tsunade started. There are new lines in his face and a new grief in his gaze, and Sasuke has never looked at their teacher and thought _broken_, but right now…he could. Easily, he could.

"Something's happened," he says, feelings—dread, unease, anger—curling and twisting into a knot in the pit of his stomach. "What is it?"

Kakashi hesitates, just for a moment, but even that's more than Sasuke has patience for, because the last time he felt this way was waking up after Itachi slaughtered his _entire clan_ and surely, surely there's nothing else he can lose now, right?

Kakashi takes a slow, deep breath, looks up, and proves him wrong with two simple words.

"Naruto's gone."

For an endless moment, Sasuke stares uncomprehending. Apparently when Tsunade fixed his mind she somehow destroyed his ears, because he _can't_ have heard what he just did, _can't can't can't_ because Naruto can't be _gone_, not in any sense of the word.

"Gone," he repeats, and even on that single word his voice breaks. "What—what do you mean, _gone_?"

Another pause, pained and straining, and Kakashi crosses the room with weary, dragging steps to sit on the foot of Sasuke's bed. His left hand is clenched into a white-knuckled fist, and the other is dug deep into a pocket—tells, obvious ones that no experienced shinobi would show unless deep in the midst of an emotional upheaval or a complete breakdown, and Sasuke can't tell which of the two this is.

"His apartment's empty," the Copy-Nin says, and the tone tries for flat but falls miles short. "No one's seen him in almost three days, and his chakra isn't anywhere within Konoha. It…looks like he left of his own volition, but we haven't ruled out kidnapping. It's possibly they just wanted us to think he left on his own."

Sasuke scoffs before he can stop himself. "Then they obviously didn't know the dobe very well," he retorts, swinging his legs off the bed. "He wouldn't do that."

Kakashi just watches him, tired and old. "Haku is gone, and their packs. Team 7's photo, too."

"No!" Sasuke denies, surprising even himself with the vehemence in that one word. "Naruto wouldn't _leave_!"

"He wants to become Hokage," a tremulous voice puts in, and Sasuke and Kakashi both look up to find Sakura in the doorway, wide-eyed and pale. "He can't do that outside the village. Sasuke's right." She slips across the room, eyes on their teacher. "Kakashi-sensei, you know that, right? Naruto would _never_ betray the village."

Kakashi's hesitation says more than words ever will. He drops his gaze, avoiding their eyes, and runs a hand through his limp hair. "Naruto didn't have…an easy time, growing up," he says at length. "You two are fairly observant; I assume you noticed. If that became too much… And with the loss of the Sandaime and failing to become a chuunin, Naruto might have decided he was…better off elsewhere. The Hokage is putting a team together to look for him—"

"I'm going with them," Sasuke says immediately. His heart is beating a tattoo in his chest, _gone gone gone_, and there's something wrapped tightly around his lungs, cold and immovable. He slides out of bed and stands, ignoring the wobble as he does so, because this is _important_.

He remembers, can't forget those nights they met each other after training, walking back to their apartments. Both tired, both too exhausted for more than a weary wave or a grunt in greeting, but Sasuke _remembers_ and he'd thought Naruto felt it, too, what was between them. Thought he felt it when they took down the Demon Brothers together, when they faced down Zabuza together, when Sasuke looked at Naruto and saw someone to _acknowledge_. Naruto with his wind and water and strange brilliance at the oddest moments, his ragtag plans that nevertheless work beautifully, the way he smiles at Sasuke without wanting anything in return but simple friendship.

He'd thought—

But he'd been wrong, apparently.

"Someone took him," he grates out, meeting Kakashi's eye, and then Sakura's. "Or someone _made_ him leave. I'm going to drag the idiot back here and beat it out of him, and then we can fix the problem."

Sakura and Kakashi glance at each other, then back at him. Sakura is still pale, but her lips have thinned into a firm line and there's steel in her spine as she straightens. Kakashi nods slowly. "You might," he says carefully, "not have time for your revenge, with a manhunt like this."

Sasuke grits his teeth and looks away, hands clenching into fists at his side.

Naruto beat him at spars, surpassed him in ninjutsu. Naruto looked at him and _saw_, not just another classmate but someone who could be a rival. Not just a teammate but a _friend_.

He thinks of his brother, about revenge. Thinks about Itachi killing so very, very many men and women and _children_ just to get stronger.

Thinks about his own quest to get stronger, the cursed seal on his neck, and wonders._ Would I do that? If I had to do that to kill Itachi, would I?_

The most terrifying thing of all is that he's not sure.

"That's…fine," he says evenly, when he can speak without his voice shaking. "If Itachi dies before I find him, I'll have had my revenge anyway."

He would have left it to Naruto, if he had died on that bridge. Left it to Naruto and been content, because Naruto would have carried out his revenge, his and the clan's. In the name of saving the one person Sasuke would have trusted with such a vast part of himself, waiting a few years to accomplish his goal is…acceptable.

Sasuke will learn how to have patience. It can only serve him well in the long run. And in the meantime, he'll look for Naruto, he'll _find_ him, and he'll bring him _home._

Kakashi nods and rises from the bed, clasping a hand on his shoulder before he steps away.

"Well then," he says, and there's a spark of something very much like hope buried in his voice. "Let's go find Naruto, then."

* * *

Uzushio's heart lies deep beneath the earth, heavily protected with seals and barriers. Naruto is alone as he walks down the long corridor, lit only with the blue light from the marks on the wall. Haku had protested and Gaara had frowned when he'd told them they couldn't accompany him, but they'd remained on the surface despite that.

Only the Uzukage ever comes down here. Only the Uzukage knows the secrets of this place.

Naruto runs his hand along the wall, setting the seals to blazing before they resettle with a soft crackle. Still intact, the entirety of this place, because even Uzumaki Reisi, studious as he was, couldn't find more than passing mention of it in any book. Only words carry the secret, words and a single, impossibly well-protected document in the Uzukage's office. Nothing else, for circumstances just like this.

Three more steps, another brush of his fingers over the carvings in the stone, and the doors at the end of the corridor swing open under their own power, as quiet as a whisper.

The chamber beyond them is small, twelve paces across at most, a circular room with a pale floor engraved with hundreds of names. Naruto pauses to look at them. Uzumaki is the deepest, but all the rest are here as well, Ookami and Ginrei and Suoh and so many more. All the clans boasting at least four families and twelve members, so long as a handful of those members served as shinobi. All here, every name darkened with blood given by the head of the family, all having contributed at least a touch of chakra to the keystone.

The keystone itself is unremarkable, a hexagonal piece of marble carved with a series of interlocking seals, all of them deceptively simple. But Naruto can feel the thrumming, throbbing power of it, this simple chunk of stone, and he crosses the room without pause or fear, and Uzushio whispers eagerly around him.

He drops to his knees, sinks his teeth into his thumb until he draws blood, and smears it across the seals without hesitation.

"Come home," he says, and his voice—_Arashi's_ voice—echoes like he's speaking from some great mountaintop, rather than within a small, enclosed room. "Uzushio has lain in ruin for too long. If you've ever sought a land of your own, a place for freedom, for safety, come home. Uzushio is waiting." He pauses, and unbidden a small smile crosses his face. "Your Kage is waiting. _Come home_."

Chakra flares, a blinding rush, and Naruto closes his eyes. He can feel it in his bones, beneath his skin. Can feel the surge and rush as old seals flare to life, called back together by blood and chakra and Uzushio's will. They're reassembling, rising, buildings and roads and arches, structures long since reduced to chunks of stone and piles of rubble standing up once more as the seals burned into them return them to how they should be.

Not all of them, but that will come in time.

Not everything, but enough.

Naruto opens his eyes and grins, because he can feel it in his very soul, Uzushio's cry stretching out across the length and breadth of the Elemental Countries, seeking those who bear the blood contained within this chamber.

_Come home_, he thinks, and all around him Uzushio _sings._

_Come home._

* * *

(Like an echo, like light, like dawn breaking over hills and thunder rumbling between mountain peaks and ripples spreading across still water, Uzushio's voice rolls across the land.

In Konoha, asleep at her desk and dreaming of a man with white hair and a handsome smile, Tsunade sighs and turns her head, ignoring the whisper in favor of a home that needs her.

In Oto, a young woman draws herself up short, red hair swirling around her shoulders, her heart suddenly thundering in her chest. At the same moment, glass shatters with a sharp crash, and she looks up to meet the startled gaze of the man coming down the hall. Black eyes framed by a messy fall of ash-grey hair hold her own, and they both glance down at the dropped beaker and then, as one, turn to look southeast.

In Kumo, an old man with his hair bleached white by time stumbles to a halt and simply stands there, not hearing his daughter-in-law's sudden, worried questions. There are tears on his face, even as he smiles, even as he laughs, and he turns southward without hesitation.

In Ame, deep within the darkness, a man lowers his head and cries, shoulders shaking and wasted body trembling.

On a rutted road somewhere near Earth Country's border, a redheaded couple pauses, steps faltering. Around them, behind them, their family does the same, the merchant train grinding to a halt as one by one they look to the east.

All across the Elemental Countries, in every nation, in a thousand forgotten places, people falter and freeze and turn their faces towards the source of a cry that resounds in their very blood.

_Home,_ it says, a man's voice and a woman's voice, the voice of someone only the oldest generations remember entwined with the voice of someone who is something both more and less than human.

_Come home_, it tells them.

And they do.)


	6. 1st Movement: Impromptu Introductions

**Rating: **R

**Warnings: **Mentions of sex, some bad language, etc.

**Word Count: **~4300

**Pairings: **Sasuke/Naruto, mentioned Ino/Shikamaru and Lee/Sakura

**Disclaimer: **I don't hold the copyrights, I didn't create them, and I make no profit from this.

**Notes: **I have this done and edited and all that fun stuff, and people seem to be interested, so I figure I might as well post. There _will_ be another chapter next Tuesday as well, no worries. Because this story is also eating my brain. -.-'

Enjoy!

* * *

_**Stormborn**_

_Chapter Six, First Movement: Impromptu Introductions_

_[Impromptu: A short piano piece, often improvisational and intimate in character.]_

Kabuto dreams of it more often than he will ever admit to sober. Dreams of dawn on the ocean and a white beach stretching out before him as he steps off the swells and onto the shore, Karin on his right. Kimimaro is on the other side, a guard from Orochimaru, who is…interested in this unexpected occurrence. The breeze is cool and salt-scented, and before them, beyond the gentle roll of the dunes, a city rises.

It's battered, nearly ruined, but a handful of buildings are standing, pale and shining between piles of rubble. White stone and red roof tiles, golden-brown streets that stretch away until they disappear beneath the debris, and it's nothing special, just a village destroyed by war, but—

But Kabuto's breath catches in his throat regardless. But Kabuto freezes on the last dune, unable to take another step from the sheer _wonder_ that's beating in his veins. There's no logical reason for it, no foundation for that or the ease that suddenly came over him the moment his sandal met solid ground, but it's there nevertheless.

From the look on Karin's face, she feels it as well.

They trade glances, and even though he's rarely spoken to her before, she a jailor and he a medic and Orochimaru's personal assistant, there are no words needed between them. With Kimimaro trailing behind, they stride forward, up into the remains of Uzushiogakure.

"There are three chakra signatures to the left," Karin murmurs, leading them in that direction, and there's a faint smile on her face. "One of them is cold, and one is…dark, but the last is just…beautiful."

As they round the corner, Kabuto almost falls over his own feet with surprise. Uzumaki Naruto, the dead-last Konoha genin who somehow still managed to give Orochimaru pause in a fight, is seated on a fallen column, Sabaku no Gaara on his left and Momochi Zabuza's former apprentice on his right. He's smiling, warm and bright, and there's something about him that's very, very different than the slightly out-of-place boy Kabuto remembers.

"Hey," he says cheerfully. "You guys are the first to get here."

"Uzumaki?" Kabuto asks warily, even as his thoughts race ahead, trying to connect the pieces. Naruto is here, has been waiting for them. They're the first—of how many? How many people heard the call that he and Karin did, and what is the connection between them?

But before he can ask anything, before he even has time to open his mouth, Naruto is in front of him, and the expression on his face would be far more suited to a man twice his age. Slowly enough for it not to be a threat, he reaches out to touch the edge of Kabuto's hair, and his smile turns wistful.

"You look like Shunka," he says, the tone both fond and sad. "She sucked at medical ninjutsu, though—couldn't even fix a papercut. Still, her younger sister was good at it, one of the best in Uzushio. Maybe you're descended from her."

There's a kind of ringing silence in Kabuto's head, a fine trembling in the hands that have always, always been so absolutely steady. He swallows hard, fighting down thoughts of orphanages and identities and the only mother he'd ever had trying to kill him, and worse yet _not recognizing him_. "You…know who I am?" he asks softly, and it's astounding that his voice doesn't shake.

The look Naruto gives him is considering, thoughtful. "Well," he answers easily, "I know your clan. I'm not entirely sure how you're related, but I can tell that you _are_. Ookami clan coloring is pretty hard to mistake." With a smile, he steps back, turning to Karin, and his face lights up. "Oh! You're another Uzumaki!"

Karin's eyes widen. "You too?" she asks, and then quickly adds, "No, no, your chakra reserves are _definitely_ Uzumaki. Are you the one rebuilding this place?"

Zabuza's apprentice is smiling, and Gaara is looking away but there's faint contentment in his eyes. Naruto steps back to join his two companions, and like a cloak falling over him he's suddenly _more_. More himself, more than just a child and an orphan, more than just a runaway Konoha genin.

"I am," he says, conviction lighting his features like a solar flare. "It's been a ruin for too long. We need somewhere to settle, to come back to. Everyone does."

And Kabuto…wonders at those words. _Feels_ wonder, rather than confusion, even though they have the ring of a Kage's absolute faith coming from a genin's mouth. Because they feel like hope, and home, and safety. Feel right and steady, even when nothing has since he left the orphanage and Nonō's care.

He looks around him, taking in the marks of work clearing stone and wood, the skeletons carefully laid out on a cleared patch of ground, the handful of buildings rising tall and proud. Thinks of clans and family and _looking like someone_.

_Ookami_, he thinks, and smiles to himself. _I am…an Ookami_.

"Where do you want us to start?" he asks, quietly stubborn, and meets Naruto's eyes, just daring him to refuse.

But he doesn't. He simply grins, bright and warm and welcoming, and steps away.

"Let me show you," he says, and leads them deeper into their new village.

* * *

And then, of course, Kabuto wakes up.

An explosion goes off outside his window, followed by a scream—not fear, certainly, as the civilians have long since adjusted to living in the madness that is Uzumaki Naruto/Arashi's Home for Wayward Social Rejects and Various Nutjobs, but anger, because Fū has a bad habit of playing tricks on Suigetsu, who doesn't appreciate it in the least. And then more shrieking joins in, because Karin hates collateral damage even when it's Suigetsu getting his face pounded into various unyielding surfaces, and Kabuto groans and drags his blankets up over his head, trying in vain to shut out the noise.

A rustle of fabric shows he's not alone in his room, but Kabuto doesn't even bother looking. "Am I allowed to send them back to Orochimaru giftwrapped and tied with a bow?" he asks, though the tone is resigned. "Please?"

The other man huffs a quiet laugh, even as he slides the curtains open to let in the morning light. The noise level, unfortunately, increases. "You'll have to take that up with Gaara-kun," he answers. "He's the one in charge until Uzukage-sama returns. But I think Naruto-sama might object to having half of his top shinobi deported."

"Can you picture it, though?" Kabuto counters, leaning up on his elbows and eyeing his friend, who is one of the few sane people in this madhouse, container of the Rokubi or not. "It would be so _quiet_."

Utakata raises an eyebrow, entirely undisturbed by the surge of fire that shoots up over the streets. "Eerily so, I imagine. Get up, Kabuto-kun. If you're not at the hospital within the hour, all of your minions will likely start to self-destruct without you."

Kabuto prays for patience, even as he levers himself out of bed. Had he knows that this would be the result, he'd have rejected Naruto's request that he be Chief Medic out of hand, and probably fled the country for good measure. "Shouldn't you be with Gaara?" he asks as he dresses. "Especially if Karin is out there, rather than acting as his assistant?"

"Our dear jounin commander is with his team." Utakata's voice is dry. "I believe he has a similar reaction to you, when faced with…antics. We'll be lucky if he doesn't abdicate before the end of the week, let alone before Uzukage-sama gets back."

Today is Thursday. Kabuto calculates the odds, and wryly concludes that Utakata is probably exactly correct. "Is there a contingency plan for if he does?" he asks curiously, even as he heads out of his apartment with Utakata a step behind.

Utakata grimaces. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that," he murmurs, following Kabuto out the window and down to the street, and then turning to the left. He raises a hand in quick farewell. "Go to the hospital before I'm forced to deal with all of the paperwork that will come with the medics revolting. I must find Hotaru."

"Good luck," Kabuto offers with a faint smile, and he gets another grimace in return. The girl is a terror, truly, and Utakata is the only one who can even begin to keep her in check.

"Hopefully, Uzukage-sama will return quickly," Utakata mutters, shaking his head. "And if he doesn't, I'm not going to be held responsible for my actions."

"Haku is with him," Kabuto feels obligated to point out. "He'll keep Naruto in line."

"It's not so much what _Naruto-sama_ will do that worries me, but what _I_ will do when I go to retrieve him. Beg, perhaps. Or cry." Utakata shakes his head and disappears around the corner, and Kabuto snorts softly as he realizes just who is third in line to take control of the village after the jounin commander. The jounin sub-commander, of course, and that just happens to be Utakata.

"My condolences," he murmurs, even though the other man is out of sight, and then turns on his heel and heads for the hospital to see just what's managed to go wrong today.

* * *

"Argh," Ino huffs, stretching her long legs out in front of her as she sinks further down in her chair. "Damn, why can't they just rename this 'chuunin babysitting duty' and be done with it? Then at least we'd know what we were getting into. We're jounin, damn it! Where's my well-paid, glory-filled A-rank mission?"

Eyes fixed on the pile of reports in front of him, Sasuke grunts an agreement. "And to think, I spent two _years_ traveling with that perverted freak of a sage for my promotion," he mutters, and then firmly locks away all thought of the Toad Sage and twenty-four _very _long months spent on the road, looking for leads. Some things are best forgotten. Quickly. Thoroughly.

Ino's growl is low, but deadly in its threat level, and she cracks her knuckles for good measure. "Freaking pervert better stay the _hell_ away from any bathhouse within a hundred miles of me," she snarls, blue eyes narrowing sharply in warning. "After last time—"

That, at least, makes Sasuke pull his gaze away from the papers in front of him—it's just another disappointment anyways, so it doesn't matter. Blond, yes, blue-eyed, yes, but the cheek markings are stage paint and the man a wandering entertainer, not a missing-nin. "After last time," he cuts in dryly, "Jiraiya flinches whenever I so much as mention either you or Sakura, and he's still trying to get rid of some of the bruises."

The only response is a sunny smile and a toss of Ino's head that sends her long ponytail flipping back over her shoulder. "After the way he was drooling and giggling, he got off lightly," she retorts. "We should have beaten him _to death_."

"No argument," Sasuke mutters, discarding the folder on the top of the stack and opening the next one. Half a beat later he rolls his eyes and tosses it to the side as well. Somehow he can't see Naruto, regardless of his status as a missing-nin, going into the human trafficking business. "Incompetent morons," he growls. "What the hell am I even paying them for?"

"To kill trees via large and entirely unnecessary amounts of paperwork?" his partner suggests dryly, snatching the next report before he can look at it. "Oooh, does this mean Naruto abandoned us to join the…" She squints at the name. "Is this even handwriting, or is it black worm trails? Geez. So Naruto's part of the Great Gaizu's Traveling Attractions Show now? As a…a _dancing girl_?"

Sasuke resists the urge to slam his head down on the table. "That would be Sen," he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I made the mistake of telling him about Naruto's Sexy Jutsu, and I think he's obsessed."

Ino laughs and lets the folder drop to the ground, where it settles in the dirt with a sad plop. "He did make a sexy girl," she admits freely, picking up another and fanning herself lightly with it. "Six years now. I wonder what he looks like. A stud, you think? Or more effeminate? That can be hot, too."

"Like a dobe," Sasuke says stubbornly, giving up on working with Ino in this kind of mood and crossing his arms over his chest. He hasn't let himself think about Naruto as anything other than the twelve-year-old who vanished, at least not in the light of day. Because the twelve-year-old is the one who disappeared, who's the entire reason Sasuke allowed himself to be dragged along with Jiraiya the Perverted Wonder for two years, shaking down contacts and feeling out spy networks for any scraps of information. That boy is why Sasuke has been establishing his own networks, and even if they can't rival Jiraiya's yet, he's well on his way to being a spymaster in his own right.

Anything for information. Anything for a single, solitary clue as to Naruto's whereabouts.

Ino is the only one of the Rookie Nine beside Sasuke himself who doesn't give in to moroseness when Naruto is mentioned. She doesn't subtly hint that it's been too long to have any hope of finding him, the way Sakura does, or call Sasuke a fool to have kept looking so long, like Kiba does. Doesn't stutter and turn away, like Hinata, or go grim and silent like Shikamaru, or sigh resignedly, like Shino and Choji. She actually _talks_ about him, smiles at the memory of the other blond, and Sasuke is unspeakably grateful to her for it. Maybe she started it as a way to get closer to her crush, but they've all grown up a lot over the last six years, and now there's only honesty behind it.

As if reading his mind, Ino smiles, tipping her chair back as she arches into a long, lithe stretch. "Mm," she hums. "Let a girl fantasize in peace, Sasuke-kun. It's not like _you're_ doing anything to fuel my fantasies."

Sasuke rolls his eyes. "Aren't you engaged?" he points out dryly.

Ino waves a dismissive hand. "Eh. It's Shikamaru. And as much as I like being on top all the time, a change of pace is a nice thing to think about."

That gets a full-body cringe in response. Sasuke has become…reluctantly fond of Ino, but _any_ thoughts on Shikamaru's sex life are unwelcome, damaging, and entirely unwarranted. "Ugh. I think I'm going to be sick."

"Hey!" But she's laughing, even as she punches him in the shoulder. "I'll have you know that I have impeccable taste. Some rocks just need more…polishing than others to make them into gems any girl would dream of owning."

"If by 'polishing' you mean 'daily beatings'."

"Six of one, half dozen of another." Ino shrugs, then twists to peer out the window at the main gate off to their left. "Damn it. Can't even _one _exciting person be travelling into Konoha today? Being 'Standby Jounin Gate Guard' is great on paper, but I'm going to die of boredom sometime within the next half-hour if nothing changes."

"And the last time we had someone exciting visit the village was…?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but I thought that guy with the spear was fairly interesting."

Sasuke arches a disbelieving brow at her. "The one who claimed his spear was made out of the bones of the Sage of Six Paths and would disintegrate anyone it came into contact with, so we should cede control of Konoha to him immediately?"

"Well, it was certainly fun watching Tsunade-sama dropkick him right back over the wall ten seconds after he walked in." Ino tips her head, scanning the folder she's still holding, and then tosses it aside to join the others. There's quite a pile of rejects already, and as the daughter of Konoha's former Chief of Intelligence Sasuke trusts her judgment enough that he leaves them where they are. Ino knows what to look for. "Hell, Sasuke-kun. If I were a suspicious sort of person, I might think all of these so-called spies were using you for their own personal gain and not living up to their end of the bargain." With a grimace, she discards another.

"I've had my suspicions." Sasuke very carefully doesn't add the _but I still think it's worth it_. He doesn't have to, because from the glance Ino gives him, her lips twisted into a wry, crooked smile, she understands.

Before she can answer, though, their headsets come to life with a crackle that makes both of them bolt out of their seats and lunge for their weapons.

"Someone's coming," Kotetsu murmurs, just barely loud enough to be heard, and Sasuke has to restrain himself from sprinting for the gate. Not out of worry for the two chuunin—Kotetsu and Izumo are more than capable of handling themselves most of the time, and Sasuke and Ino's presence is pretty much just for invading army scenarios—but because they've been sitting in this damned room for _six hours_ without a single trip out. They're both getting desperate.

"I see them, too," Izumo agrees. "Three—no, four of them. The man in front, he's carrying…"

"It's suspicious-looking," Kotetsu chimes in, voice tight, and Ino's got one of her long knives in hand and a bloodthirsty little half-smile on her face in anticipation.

"What?" Sasuke finally grits out, unable to hold back any longer. "What is it?"

There's a long moment of tense, breathless silence, and then Izumo says, entirely too cheerfully, "Oops, sorry, false alarm. That's a goat."

With a hiss like a popped balloon, Ino deflates, sagging back into her chair. "_You!_" she hisses. "You little _bastards_!"

The only thing coming from the other end of the link is Kotetsu's laughter and Izumo's snickering.

Sasuke growls and throws himself into his seat. "Fuck," he huffs. "See if I'm ever nice to a chuunin again."

"You're nice to chuunin?" Ino asks skeptically, arching a delicately shaped brow. "For the love of little green apples, _why_?"

It takes a second to think that one over, and Sasuke feels slightly vindicated when he can't remember any such incidents of kindness happening previously. "Well, if I was ever going to be, I've changed my mind."

"Good choice," Ino affirms, relaxing the tension from her muscles with a sigh. She flips her knife through her fingers, then sheathes it so quickly it seems to vanish from sight.

Sasuke approves with a nod. "You've gotten better."

"Asuma-sensei's been training with me," she explains blithely, stretching once more before settling with her fingers laced over her bare stomach, legs extended and crossed at the ankles. "Lee beat me last time we sparred, even though I was using ninjutsu and genjutsu _and_ my knives, and since Sakura was watching I'm never going to live it down. But I'll win next time, you can bet on it."

"Lee's a monster," Sasuke says flatly, remembering—not without an internal wince—his own sparring session with the older boy.

Ino huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, but Sakura beat me too last time we fought, and with her promotion she's been insufferable enough lately. It doesn't help that Lee is ridiculously romantic and she rubs that in my face _continuously,_ seeing as I'm stuck with the Great Lazy Lump of Konoha."

Sasuke is so very, very _unspeakably_ relieved that most members of his fan club have moved on to greener pastures, as it were—maybe a little too literally, in Sakura's case. Ino and Sakura more than all the others combined, because they were always the most trouble. Though, granted, it's been a good four years since the obsession faded. Ino had jumped Shikamaru while Sasuke was traveling with Jiraiya, and they'd been happily otherwise engaged when he got back.

As for Sakura, the two of them had gotten into a knock-down, drag-out fight about six weeks later when Sasuke refused to give up on looking for Naruto. Things were said, tempers snapped, and in the end Sakura had punched Sasuke through a wall, stalked off, and reappeared the next day looking both a great deal more relaxed and quite a bit more ruffled than normal, with Lee floating after her on a cloud of pure romantic bliss. They've been far better with each other since, though Sasuke knows Naruto is still a bit of a sore point between them. Sakura has more than once accused him of being obsessed, and while Sasuke will never admit to it aloud, he can't quite argue.

"She did become a tokubetsu jounin first," he feels the need to point out, in his former teammate's defense.

Ino waves that away, though she still looks slightly miffed at the memory. "Technicality. Medic-nin occupy a unique category within the shinobi ranks, given their specialized skillset and the requirement of their presence in high-risk situations such as open combat, where lower-ranked shinobi would be a hindrance to the operation. Therefore, when promoted, most by default qualify for the rank of tokubetsu jounin."

Sasuke shoots the blonde an amused glance. "You memorized that from the handbook just to quote it back at Sakura, didn't you?"

The answering grin is close to blinding. "I'd like to see proof before I answer any accusations leveled against me, Sasuke-kun, thank you." There's a pause as they both halfheartedly page through a few more files, and then, apropos of nothing, Ino says, "I'm…really glad you're not a bastard like you used to be, Sasuke-kun.

"I thought it was part of my charm," Sasuke deflects, but he carefully doesn't look up. It's true, he knows. He was a first class bastard, and part of him (an achingly, appallingly large part) wonders if that wasn't why Naruto left in the first place.

Almost unconsciously, he presses a hand over the dormant and sealed mark on his neck, which no one has been able to remove. It's…a symbol now, more than anything. A symbol of what he almost let happen, almost became—very likely would have, if Naruto hadn't provided just enough distraction at exactly the right moment.

But Naruto gave that distraction, vanishing into the dawn as he did, and it took Sasuke two years on the road, constantly moving, with only the company of the lecherous Toad Sage, to come to a realization. Two years of scanning every crowd they came across for blond hair and blue eyes and a brilliant smile, of studying every battlefield, empty or occupied, that they passed for signs of Fuuton and Suiton used together. Two years of lying on hard-packed ground and staring up at a dark sky and _thinking_, because there was little else to do when he was too exhausted from training to even sleep.

Two years before he realized that Itachi had been _goading him_, that night, pushing him towards something. Sasuke is nothing if not bullheaded and as stubborn as a particularly obstinate boulder, and the sudden comprehension had drawn him up short, aggravated and furious and hurt and _bewildered_. Because _why_? What purpose could Itachi possibly have had driving Sasuke down this path? Did he want another Uchiha to test his strength against?

If that's the answer, Sasuke is hardly about to oblige him. He'll get stronger, of course, advance as far as he can, but right now it's with a different goal in mind.

Oh, he'll still take his revenge, if it's presented, and eagerly at that. But it's not his entire existence anymore, which is…better. Both easier and harder, but…manageable.

For the first time since he was seven, Sasuke is living for himself, and he's not about to go back to the way things were.

Another crackle of the headset pulls Sasuke out of his thoughts, and he blinks as he finds himself moving automatically for his weapons. "Yes?" he asks, and though he's wary of another prank, he knows Kotetsu and Izumo well enough to realize that they won't do such a thing again. Not with the safety of the village on the line.

"Sorry, Sasuke-kun, Ino-chan," Kotetsu says, and beneath the evenness of his voice is the faintest hint of wary bewilderment. "I think you need to get out here."


	7. 1st Movement: Blue Ocean Overture

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Some bad language/name-calling, Gaara being introspective, Tsunade being devious, etc.

**Word Count: **~4700

**Pairings: **Sasuke/Naruto

**Disclaimer: **I don't hold the copyrights, I didn't create them, and I make no profit from this.

**Notes: **Practically-a-cowriter props need to go to **EmeraldBenu**, whose ideas and questions and general interest has given this story an actual, solid direction and a way to get there, and I am incredibly grateful.

Also, all of my current SasuNaru feels can be encompassed by this video: (If the link gets eaten, searching Just Love Him Sasunaru on YouTube should get you to it. And give the vidder many, many kudos, because it's shivery-gorgeous.)

* * *

_**Stormborn**_

_Chapter Seven, First Movement: Blue Ocean Overture_

_[Overture: Introduction to an opera or other large musical work.]_

Sasuke and Ino are out the door before the chuunin even finishes his sentence, bounding up across the guardhouse roof and down the other side to halt right in front of the gate. Kotetsu and Izumo are both on their feet, solidly planted, and as the jounin approach Izumo waves a quick hand in front of him, gesturing towards one of the larger trees by the road.

"Two visitors," he murmurs to Sasuke, leaning in to keep from being overheard. "They claim they're from Uzushiogakure, and they want to meet with the Hokage."

"Uzushiogakure?" Ino asks in confusion. "I haven't heard of it."

"Probably because it was only recently rebuilt," a bright voice puts in from above, and Sasuke narrows his eyes, studying the tree and wondering if he should call out his Sharingan. Before he can decide, though, there's a soft rustle and with a faint, bright chime of bells, a figure drops down to land in an easy crouch.

There's no jounin or chuunin vest, is the first thing Sasuke notices, not that that means much. A lot of shinobi simply choose not to wear them. Instead, the man—on the shorter side of average height, with a leanly muscled build and darkly tanned skin—is clad in a short, sky-blue kimono that reaches mid-thigh, worn over a pair of dove-grey leggings and a fishnet shirt. There's a kunai holster strapped to his right thigh and a weapons pouch attached to the wave-pattered obi, the edge of a sealing scroll just barely visible within it. A mask like Kakashi's, only pale grey, covers the bottom half of his face, but the eyes that Sasuke can see are new-leaf-green, and his hair is a pale and sun-streaked blond. It's pulled up in a messy knot at the back of his head, what shoulder-length locks that manage to fall free neatly braided and left loose.

Sasuke's eyes linger on the golden tan and blond hair—a combination that's never failed to make his heart clench just a little—but almost immediately they're drawn to the man's hitai-ate, tied around his bicep. It's a symbol that's familiar, strangely so—a tight spiral contained within a circle. Every flak jacket in Konoha bears the same mark, and to see it on a foreign shinobi's hitai-ate is very close to eerie.

"Good morning," the blond says cheerfully, ignoring Sasuke's silent survey. "We're here on behalf of Yondaime Uzukage Uzumaki Arashi of Uzushiogakure, to petition for Uzushio's right to enter the Chuunin Exams next month. If we could speak to the Hokage as soon as possible, we'd be grateful."

Above the mask, his eyes are very, very green, and he doesn't look away. Sasuke finds he can't quite bring himself to do so, either.

"We?" Ino asks, eyes narrowing as she scans their surroundings again.

The blond half-turns and waves up into the tree, and a moment later another man drops into sight. Dark-haired this time, wearing a more regular shinobi uniform in shades of grey and blue, with a dark visor over his eyes and his hair pulled up in a neat tail. "We," the blond agrees, apparently unconcerned with the tenseness of the Konoha shinobi. Sasuke pegs him as either an idiot or a very good actor. "He's Yuki, and you can call me Youko."

Ino glances between them, and then raises a brow. "Youko?" she asks in faint disbelief, because she's never, ever been one to hold her tongue and be polite when she's not forced to. Were he not the same—if slightly more taciturn—and were ANBU not rarely required to speak, it likely would have driven Sasuke to drink by now. "Isn't that a girl's name?"

Youko grins, the sly-sharp twist of it just visible beneath his mask. "Among other things," he agrees easily.

Before Ino can ask anything else, Sasuke steps forward and inclines his head, shooting her a look as he moves. She nods immediately, steps back, and disappears in a whirl of leaves, gone to inform the Hokage of their visitors. "I'm Uchiha Sasuke," he says, finally allowing his hand to shift off his sword's hilt. "If the Hokage is free, we will take you right to her."

"How luxurious—door to door service," the blond says, clearly grinning again. He drops gracefully to the ground, crossing his legs as he goes, and settles comfortably in the grass on the side of the road. "Come on, Uchiha-san, I'm sure your chuunin friends can watch the gate until your partner returns. Care to join me?"

_Idiot_, Sasuke decides with pained resignation, pushing down thoughts of another blond moron. _Yet another idiot, why is this my life?_ But he settles a careful distance from the man, because he seems willing enough to give out answers, and Sasuke is the type to take complete advantage of that.

(Besides, if the man is a Kage's emissary, he can't be that much of an idiot. No village leader, especially from a newly formed—or reformed, as the case may be—hidden village, would take the chance of a foolish messenger saying something inappropriate and damaging relations before they can even form.)

"You said your Kage is named _Uzumaki_ Arashi?" Sasuke asks, because he'd caught the name, and while he won't allow himself to hope—

"Yes," Youko affirms, raising an eyebrow at him, as though it's something he should already know. "The Uzumaki originally founded Uzushio, and they're still our largest clan. Your Shodaime married the daughter of our Shodaime, actually. Uzumaki Mito was from Uzushio."

It's not…disappointment that he's feeling. Just resignation, at the fact that his search isn't over yet. And Sasuke knows, _knows_ that Naruto isn't the only one to bear that family name, but just for a second he had _wanted_.

But he wants quite often, these days, so that's nothing new there.

Youko looks away from Sasuke, towards what little of Konoha can be seen through the gate, and Sasuke can see the turn of his smile. But he says nothing, only hums softly to himself, and Yuki remains completely still and entirely silent.

Sasuke looks at the blond, thinks of blue eyes the shade of a summer sky and golden hair several shades darker than this man's, and resists the urge to close his eyes and look away. He's on duty and this is no time for weakness. There are thousands of people across the Elemental Countries with that particular combination of coloring. He has no reason at all to feel so…thwarted.

But, as ever, he wishes it were Naruto sitting across from him, and by this point, he doesn't even try to fight it anymore.

* * *

Gaara stands on the warm stone of the docks, arms crossed over his chest as he watches two redheaded children and a blond boy running on the surface of the water. They laugh and leap and twist, showing off unnecessarily as they guide a merchant ship through the reefs off the coastline, and Gaara can't quite swallow down the faint smile pulling at his lips. Aki and Natsu, both Uzumaki, and Kin Makoto, from one of the new clans to come with all the rest—and somehow, through madness or brilliance (and with Naruto it's always rather hard to tell), they're _his._

He wonders, sometimes, what would have happened had he returned to Suna, had he stayed with his brother and sister and the village that hated him. No genin, certainly. He can't imagine them trusting him with so much as a houseplant, let alone three impressionable children. No position as jounin commander, either, earned not through his demands and their fearfulness but effort and time and dedication.

No Naruto, with his bright smiles and frequent, offhand touches, the darkness in his eyes that matches Gaara's but is nevertheless always overwhelmed by so much sheer joy at life. And really, that's what truly matters in the end. Because Gaara is certain down to his bones that he would follow Naruto anywhere, into anything regardless of the odds. Follow him in and then right back out the other side, because for Naruto there is no such thing as losing.

"Sensei, sensei!" Aki stumbles onto the dock, the boys a step behind her, and staggers over to where he's standing. They're all drenched from the spray, hair drying stiff with saltwater under the morning sun, and their tans are several shades darker than when they went out. The girl gives him a grin, Uzumaki-bright, and says, "The Harbormaster says our shift is done. He's got another team coming in time to meet the next ship."

Gaara glances across the harbor to where the man is standing on a lookout, and gets a nod and wave. He nods in return before focusing on his team again. "How many missions is that now?"

Makoto, easily the quietest and most dignified of the three, hesitates a moment before answering softly, "Nineteen D-ranks and four C-ranks, Gaara-sensei."

"Does that mean you'll let us enter the Exams now?" Natsu asks, sharing an eager look with his twin and all but dancing with restrained excitement.

Gaara doesn't tell them that he put their names down the minute Naruto offhandedly suggested using the Chuunin Exams to reveal Uzushio's comeback to the world at large. Instead, he arches a brow at the three hopeful faces he's presented with and keeps his expression perfectly straight. "Perhaps," he allows after a moment, then checks the position of the sun. "You have two hours to change and eat, and then you will meet at Training Ground 9 for your daily exercises before finishing the day's last mission."

"Yes, Gaara-sensei," they chorus, and Aki immediately grabs the boys' hands and drags them off at a run, ignoring their complaints as they vanish into the twisting streets.

Gaara watches them go with faint amusement. When Naruto had first told him that he had put Gaara's name down as a potential jounin sensei, he had been…horrified. Adjustments to Shukaku's seal or no, he was still…damaged. Different. And surely, surely no one in their right mind would inflict such a thing on one innocent child, let alone three.

But Naruto had insisted, the way he so seldom did. He'd ignored Gaara's (completely justified) objections and entered his name into the lottery anyway, told him where to meet his new Team One when it was drawn. And because it was Naruto, because if Gaara has ever owed anything to anyone it is everything to Naruto, he had gone and met the three bright-faced and optimistic genin he'd been saddled with.

He is…satisfied with how it has turned out.

Normally, at this point in the morning he either goes to join Naruto for lunch or, if he fails to appear in a timely manner, Naruto will hunt him down, Haku usually in tow. Sometimes, Gaara will even go to lunch alone with Haku, if the Uzukage's duties are too much for Naruto to leave. There are others as well who don't mind his companionship—Fū and Utakata, Roushi and Kabuto, several tokubetsu jounin and a handful of jounin who respect him but don't fear him and think of him as a _friend_.

It is…astonishing, to have this. To be a part of a place where no one shudders as he walks by, or turns their face away. Naruto makes it very clear to anyone wanting to live in Uzushio that those within are to be treated equally, whether civilian or shinobi or jinchuuriki.

_The past doesn't matter here,_ he always says. _If you're looking for a home in this village, _what_ you are doesn't matter at all compared to _who_ you are._

Gaara had been…skeptical, at first. When the first ship full of people, shinobi and farmers and craftsmen and families, had set foot on the shore, he had expected an outcry at the presence of two jinchuuriki and a handful of missing-nin, but—

It had never come. It still hasn't, for that matter, and Gaara wonders at it even now. Haku has said that those who come are always so desperate for a home that they don't care, that they are all displaced, outcasts in their own right, and can sympathize with those in the same situation. And after six years with very few disturbances of any sort, Gaara is almost convinced.

The sun is warm on his shoulders, and he lifts his face to the clear sky, raising a hand to shield his eyes. As ever, the smell of salt is sharp in his nose, but familiar after over half a decade in this village, and he allows himself a small smile. Here he never has to question his purpose. Here he never doubts what he was born for. He is the jounin commander and leads a genin team, stands second in authority to the Uzukage himself, and is a valued member of the shinobi forces. People smile at him, and laugh freely when he's around, greet him and touch him and never flinch away. Perhaps a large part of that is because they never saw him before, trapped in Shukaku's bloodlust, but it's still something he doubts he would have ever had in Suna.

Gaara breathes out, centered and calm, and turns on his heel to head back into the village. Naruto is two days gone already, Haku with him to keep him out of trouble, and Gaara has enough duties as interim leader that this handful of hours with his genin team is an indulgence. And, indeed, a young woman in an unzipped jounin vest is striding down the street towards him, crimson hair bristling and glasses ever so slightly askew.

"Karin," he greets over the faint stream of obscenities she's hissing. The hem of her shirt and one of her sleeves is soaking wet, and Gaara is willing to bet a month's pay that she's fresh from yet another screaming match with Suigetsu.

"Gaara-san," she returns, eyes flashing. "Do you know what that bitch Fū said? She told me Suigetsu and I fight like a _married couple_! A _married couple_! Argh! She should have been drowned at birth, that little…"

She subsides into muttered cursing again, and Gaara very carefully doesn't let any of his amusement show on his face. Karin is very good at being passive-aggressive, underneath all of her bluster, and Gaara would rather not find himself trapped in the Uzukage's office until midnight signing documents. Sleep is a luxury he enjoys indulging in, now that Naruto's modifications to his seal make it impossible for Shukaku to overwhelm him.

"If we're a married couple, it's one on the verge of divorce!" Karin snarls, throwing her hands up in aggravation. "I _hate him_, Gaara-san! Ugh, that _bastard_!"

"I take it there are matters that need overseeing?" Gaara asks mildly, heading back up the street. Several passing shinobi give him sympathetic or amused smiles when they see the ranting redhead beside him, and he tips his head slightly in amused acknowledgment.

Karin narrows her eyes at him behind her glasses, but allows the change of subject with a sniff. "Yes, there's a disagreement between two clans in the West District over a piece of unclaimed land they both swear is theirs by right. Ine-san from the library found the records, but we think it's best if you deliver the verdict—less chance of bloodshed. Then there are three groups requesting entrance to the village—one is a merchant party from Wave Country, the second is a handful of shinobi wanting to join, and the third is a delegation from Hot Springs Country hoping to rework their trade agreement. I've set up a schedule, so _follow it_. No more running off to play with your genin!"

Gaara doesn't roll his eyes, but it's tempting. Karin is the Uzukage's assistant, and very good at her job, but she's…loud. And used to dealing with Naruto, who tends to get distracted by his people all too often for her tastes.

Of course, Gaara knows, it's one of the reasons Naruto is so well-loved. People are used to thinking of the Kages as remote, untouchable figures in their heavy ceremonial robes and high towers, distant and almost god-like in their power. But Naruto is different. He walks through the streets like anyone else, laughs and smiles and greets an extraordinary number of people by name and like old friends, picks up children and teases genin and remarks on craftsmen's wares. Often, when Gaara looks at him, he feels as though he's looking at Uzushio given form, an entire village distilled down to its essence in one bright and brilliant man.

He pauses on the crest of a small rise, turning to look back at the ocean as it stretches away, at the city spread out around them in golden-brown and red and white, and can't help but smile once again at the sight of it all.

Six years now, almost seven, and never once has he regretted his decision. Not even for a moment.

* * *

"From Uzushio, you said?" Tsunade sighs and rests her elbows on the desk, rubbing the bridge of her nose wearily.

In front of her, Ino nods respectfully. "Yes, Hokage-sama. Two of them, and I'd guess they're both jounin from their chakra levels. Sasuke-kun is staying with them at the moment, but they requested they see you as soon as possible."

Tsunade wonders if it's a trap, a trick of some sort, though she can't imagine the purpose. "Bring them here," she orders after a long moment. "Treat them as guests unless they prove otherwise."

"Yes, Hokage-sama." With a quick salute and a blurring leap, the young woman is out the window and headed back towards the gate as quickly as she can go. Tsunade stares after her for a moment, then drags her attention back to the matter at hand.

She remembers Uzushio, though she only visited it a handful of times. Most memorable, perhaps, was attending the Uzushio Jounin Exams at the Nidaime Uzukage's invitation. Tsunade closes her eyes and thinks of walking through brightly-paved streets with her granduncle beside her and her grandmother in front of them, not even an Academy student yet and easily awed. Remembers men and women in bright robes and groups of shinobi laughing together as they laid bets. The tests had been hard, and the Uzushio shinobi had cheered loudest for one of their chuunin in particular, a young man with golden hair and a fondness for seals and powerful ninjutsu. The blond boy had won the Exam, placed first and advanced to jounin with ease and not an ounce of surprise from anyone around them, and Tsunade recalls that Mito had smiled then, small and slow and satisfied.

"That boy," she had told Tobirama, voice low but strong, "he's the newest hope of the Uzumaki clan, a genius with Wind and Water affinities. My niece Saehara Jin was his teacher, and she says he has an instinctive grasp of chakra techniques like she's never seen before. Uzukage-sama is eyeing him as a possible successor."

Tobirama's eyes had narrowed, thoughtful and faintly unhappy, and he had murmured, "A child?"

"A brilliant one," Mito had countered. "And he's already fifteen. There was even talk of taking him as the next host for the Kyuubi, but for all that he's an Uzumaki he isn't directly related to the Uzukage's family, or to mine." Her eyes had darkened, but she had raised her chin. "Also, he will be too old by the time I am ready to pass this burden on. I have a few good years in me yet."

It was then that the young man had turned, almost as if he had heard Mito's words, and looked up into the stands where they sat. Blue eyes, Tsunade remembers. As blue as the ocean, or as blue as the sky, and so very, very determined.

_The newest hope of the Uzumaki clan_, she had thought then. _Hope_.

It had suited him.

There had been other meetings afterwards, if only a few. The blond—Uzumaki Arashi, she had later learned—had been Uzukage four months when Sarutobi became Sandaime Hokage, and both men had been friends, as much as their positions allowed. As Sarutobi's student, she had encountered the man twice on his visits to Konoha, and he had always seemed kind and gentle with a terrifying fierceness buried inside him, like a storm just waiting to be unleashed.

The God of Shinobi and the Storm God. Both third to lead their villages, both chosen young but very, very strong. Sarutobi had raged, when they received news of Uzushio's fall, far too late to do anything. He had raged and ranted and wept when he had thought they could not see, because Uzushio was very nearly a twin of Konoha, they were so close. An unwavering ally, a village of friends when most shinobi were set at odds by politics, and it had all been lost in the space of a few days, brought to ruin because Kiri feared Uzushio's power.

And now it's been rebuilt, if this news is anything to go by. Rebuilt and repopulated, a shinobi village once more. One with strength, as well, to be able to send two jounin on a mission deep into another country, with no guarantee of a swift return. Jounin are, for the most part, the main source of income for their villages—B- and C-ranks might be more plentiful, but it's the A- and S-rank missions that bring the most money.

Two jounin spared means this is either a very important mission—possible, given that it is more less an announcement of Uzushio's return—or considered dangerous—also possible, as whatever treaties Konoha and Uzushio held ended when the village fell—or both.

A knock on the door draws her attention, and she calls a sharp, "Come in," even as she rises to her feet.

Her first glimpse of them is almost a shock, because she remembers another blond jounin, dressed almost identically to this one. But that was more than fifty years ago, all but another world, and she has to remind herself sharply that this is not the man she saw that day. No matter how much he looks like him, right down to the goddamn bells in his hair. All but the eyes, which are a sharp and startling green, very far from what she half-expects to see.

Those warm, fine-boned features are all but the same, though, regardless of her inner denials, as is the steadiness and certainty with which this young man meets her gaze. "Hokage-sama," he says politely, but warmly, dipping into a respectful bow. "Greetings on behalf of Yondaime Uzukage Uzumaki Arashi. I am Youko, and this is my partner Yuki."

Tsunade wonders how it can possibly be coincidence, this new Uzukage bearing the same name as his predecessor. But at the same time, how can it be anything else? She steels herself and inclines her head in return. "Youko-san, Yuki-san, we are honored to have Uzushio shinobi visit after so long. May I ask what the occasion is?"

That gets her a smile, the blond's eyes crinkling over the top of his mask. "We finished reconstruction two years ago," he answers readily. "Our first genin teams started training then, and a majority of them have been declared ready to take the Chuunin Exams. Uzukage-sama thought to petition to enter them now, as Konoha is host this time and your village has long been a valuable ally to ours."

The Chuunin Exams are a traditionally neutral event, and it's hardly up to Tsunade to deny a country that wishes to enter. She nods, resettling into her seat and pulling a blank scroll closer. "I'll make arrangements and notify the proctors," she agrees. "How many teams?"

"Four," Youko answers, still smiling, but there's relief in the lines of his face, and Tsunade wonders at it. Did they really think she would deny them? Rebuilt or not, Uzushio has always been an ally, and they haven't done anything to disprove that yet. Moreover, this is the first Tsunade has heard of their return, and that they haven't come begging for help from Konoha in their reconstruction almost makes her more inclined to trust that this isn't some trick. Shinobi are proud to a fault, after all, especially where their villages are concerned.

She makes a note off to the side, then nods. "Very well. Will you be returning to Uzushio with the news?"

"I will send a message," Yuki says unexpectedly, taking a half-step forward and inclining his head. "Uzukage-sama will need us here for the transportation seals to work, and it would be simpler for us to remain until the Exams begin."

Transportation seals? Tsunade knows that Uzushio shinobi have a habit of treating such things as commonplace, given their sealing abilities, so she tucks the question away for later. "You're more than welcome, of course. Ino, please take them to one of the inns and get them settled. Uchiha, I need a word."

"Hokage-sama," her jounin answer, one significantly more enthusiastic than the other. Ino shoots Sasuke a smug, if well-hidden, smile, then steps forward with a murmured, "This way, please," and escorts the Uzushio nin out of the room.

Tsunade lets the silence linger for a moment, watching as her favorite jounin (for torturing) starts getting tense and twitchy. Then, with her sweetest smile, she leans forward on her elbows, folds her hands under her chin, and orders, "Bring me Jiraiya."

Sasuke flinches like she slapped him, jerking his head up to meet her gaze. He's trying for puppy-dog eyes, likely learned from his partner who's absolutely devastating with them, but improvements in temperament aside, he's still a bit too much of a bastard to actually pull them off. "But—!" he protests.

Tsunade knows very well why he's so reluctant. Jiraiya still hasn't broken his habit of perving on the women's bathhouses, and whenever Sasuke is around the Toad Sage has a tendency to use his eternally reluctant student as bait.

(It is, quite honestly, one of the funniest things Tsunade has seen in her long life, and after a childhood spent with Orochimaru and Jiraiya and their prank wars that's saying something.)

"No buts," she counters mercilessly. "That's an order, Uchiha. I want Jiraiya in front of my desk—in _one piece_—within the hour. Go."

The glare he shoots her isn't so much murderous, as was likely his intention, as it is horrified, reluctantly resigned, and deeply wounded, but he goes. Tsunade snickers and leans back in her chair, wondering if it would be petty to assign a genin team to get pictures of the scuffle that's sure to take place. She has absolute authority for a reason, though, right?


	8. 1st Movement: Memories in Meter

**Rating: **R-ish (for Jiraiya)

**Warnings: **Slight language, Jiraiya being himself, etc.

**Word Count: **~4100

**Pairings: **Sasuke/Naruto

**Co-writer/idea guru: **EmeraldBenu (\o/)

**Disclaimer: **I don't hold the copyrights, I didn't create them, and I make no profit from this.

**Notes: **Hopefully this will answer some of the myriad questions people had after the last , there is a method to my madness, don't worry. Um, mostly.

(Also, I have this impression floating around in my brain that team numbers are passed down by legacy, i.e. Jiraiya's team was 7 so Minato's team was 7 and Kakashi's team etc. Maybe this is fanon, but I like the idea and tend to use it in most of my stories. So if I'm ridiculously wrong…shh.)

[Teaser: Next chapter is _Requiem for Bells_.]

* * *

_**Stormborn**_

_Chapter Eight, First Movement: Memories in Meter_

_[Meter: The pattern of a music piece's rhythm of strong and weak beats.]_

Jiraiya's had enough experience surviving the sneaky little bastard's various attempts to give him a heart attack that he doesn't even twitch as a dark shape drops out of the leaves and lands three inches to his left.

"Sasuke," he says evenly, contemplating a phrase in his new manuscript before scratching it out in favor of "heaving". That's a good word, right? Short but descriptive, invoking lots of imagery. Yeah, that's the right one.

"Oi, Ero-Sennin." A pale hand snatches the manuscript right out from under his nose, and Jiraiya jerks his head up in indignation to meet sharp, narrowed black eyes. God_damn_ does he ever regret revealing that nickname in a moment of drunken weakness.

"What, brat?" he demands, but it falls flat when the youngest Uchiha's gaze doesn't even waver.

"Did you find anything?" Sasuke asks, low and fierce, and sometimes it still startles Jiraiya, the intensity of this boy in the face of his goals. Maybe it shouldn't, as the Uchiha have always been single-minded to the point of ridiculousness, but even so, it's unsettling.

But he softens, too, because Sasuke's entire focus is and always has been getting Naruto back, and that's something Jiraiya can sympathize with. He'd been entirely reluctant when Tsunade informed him that Itachi had been spotted near Konoha and she was sending Sasuke with Jiraiya to keep him out of harm's way, but a single month on the road had changed his opinion. Jiraiya had looked at him and seen Orochimaru at first, an aloof genius set at odds with his boisterous teammate, cold and angry and driven. But…

But this Team 7 isn't Jiraiya's Team 7. There's no direct and straightforward parallels he can draw between them, no carbon copies across generations. Naruto is the one gone, and Sasuke has put just as much effort into finding him as Jiraiya has.

With a sigh, Jiraiya resigns himself to the loss of his manuscript, at least for the moment, and resettles on the ground beneath the tree. "Bits and pieces," he admits, running a hand through his tangled hair. "All of it's fairly worrying. Akatsuki has pretty much gone to ground. We've got two jinchuuriki accounted for, two dispersed at best or captured at worst, and five of the most powerful ninja in the Elemental Countries just up and vanished within the space of two years. They haven't been captured, I know that much, but there are far too many options left over in any case."

Sasuke sinks back on his heels, eyes narrowing, and Jiraiya can see the thoughts racing across his expression, if only because he's had two years learning to read that poker face. "Five? You confirmed the Rokubi and the Yonbi's disappearances?" He catches Jiraiya's expression and rolls his eyes. "Hn. _Utakata and Roushi's_ disappearances," he corrects.

Jiraiya thinks about calling him on it, but there's really no point. The kid knows Naruto is the Kyuubi's jinchuuriki—such a thing was pretty much impossible to keep a secret when they were hunting Akatsuki as Akatsuki hunted the bijuu—and he also knows that the container isn't the same as the beast within. He's just a brat who can't be bothered to use people's names unless forced.

"I did," he says after a beat, just to make sure Sasuke knows Jiraiya is judging him. "Iwa's ANBU say that Roushi left his hiding spot four years ago, headed east, and met with a group of unidentified shinobi near Taki before vanishing. Kiri is currently in the midst of dealing with their demon-lady Mizukage's reforms, and can't be assed to notice one of their missing-nin going even further off the grid, so Utakata was harder to pinpoint. Still, as far as I can tell, he pulled up stakes along with his apprentice about five years ago. Fū disappeared shortly after Naruto, and Gaara might have been taken along with him, they vanished so close to one another. That makes five." Jiraiya blows out a heavy breath and shakes his head. "Five ridiculously powerful bijuu and their human containers, and not one damned idea where they are or what's happened to them."

Sasuke's mouth compresses into a flat, dissatisfied line as he rocks back on his heels. "You said Roushi met a group. This is the same group of unidentified shinobi that's been taking missions along the coast?" he asks after a moment.

Jiraiya nods, not quite able to smother the grin twitching at his lips. "You mean the one that's giving both Kiri and Kumo a conniption fit by stealing all of their customers? Oh yeah. They're pretty skilled from what rumors I've managed to hear, but for the most part people aren't talking. Trying to find them is always a well-I-heard-it-from-a-friend-of-a-friend-of-my-sister-in-law's-cousin kind of thing." He shrugs slightly, eyeing the manuscript Sasuke's still holding and wondering if he feels like risking a lunge. The brat's good with Katon jutsus, unfortunately, and far too gleeful about using them on innocent pure-hearted romance novels. "I'd be more worried, but it's actually a relief for Konoha. We've never really been able to keep up with requests, and having a new group willing to step in means we can focus on the higher-ranked missions. Win-win."

"Unless they have something to do with Naruto's disappearance."

For a beat, Jiraiya thinks about reminding the Uchiha that it's not _just_ Naruto who's gone missing; it's five god-damned _jinchuuriki_ with all the power that implies. But one look at the boy's face and he gives it up as a bad job. Yeah, nothing's getting through to him, not when he's got a scent in front of his nose. It almost makes Jiraiya wonder why he didn't contract with dogs like Kakashi. "Unless that," he agrees. "And it's suspicious that so many people have been moving east lately, only to vanish once they leave the coast, but I can't track them and that's something else no one is talking about."

"Hn." With a scowl, Sasuke pushes to his feet, manuscript still clutched in one bastardly thieving hand. "Tsunade wants to see you immediately. There's a pair of shinobi here claiming to be from Uzushiogakure."

"Uzushio, huh?" Jiraiya rises slowly, feeling his years in every bone. Tsunade has aged well—hell, even _Orochimaru_ has aged well, but Jiraiya has never had that distinction. Of course, Tsunade and Orochimaru are both pretty, pretty princesses, so maybe that has something to do with it, too. "Well, come on. If we're too late she'll throw her desk at us."

"At _you_, you mean." But Sasuke shadows him as he leaps up into the tree, then across to the nearest rooftop and towards the Hokage's office.

Jiraiya almost laughs at the boy's naivety. "Oh, brat," he chuckles. "If you think the wrath of Tsunade will miss you just because you're not the target, you're—HEY! NO, BRAT, DON'T YOU DARE!"

"Hn." Sasuke gives him a smug smirk, flames crackling cheerfully in one hand and Jiraiya's precious second draft clutched in the other, and then blurs forward, making for the Hokage's window with impressive speed.

Not that it's enough to get away from the angry Toad Sage on his ass. Jiraiya snarls, curses the day he ever listened to Tsunade and agreed to take the bastard brat traveling, and lunges.

* * *

"Care to tell me why this is the first I'm hearing of any of this, Jiraiya?" Tsunade asks, and Sasuke has sat in on enough meetings between her and Jiraiya to recognize what she's _actually_ saying, which is more along the lines of '_if you don't have a good excuse I'm going to introduce your head to the wall and damn the paperwork_.'

Jiraiya also clearly understands the implications, because he raises his hands as if in surrender. "Hey, I've given you the rumors about a new shinobi village. I've even sent you the news about people migrating east in small groups and then vanishing behind a barrier I can't get around. And I _know_ you got my reports on a new group taking missions along the coast. I just—_Uzushiogakure_ is a bit of a leap even for me, don't you think?"

Tsunade looks both unimpressed and unconvinced, with an edge of irritation that surprises Sasuke slightly. The Slug Sannin is generally fair almost to a fault, and this frustration is something…different. It's not all directed at the failure of their intelligence network. And, with a sudden sound of impatience, she shoves back from her desk and stalks over to the window, every line of her body tight.

"Then tell me," she bites out, "why a man who I could swear was _fifty years dead_ just waltzed into my office and told me that _Uzukage Uzumaki Arashi_ was requesting entry in the Chuunin Exams!"

Sasuke knows too little about Uzushio—practically nothing, and what he does know is what little he's managed to gather in the last hour—for the name to mean anything to him, but Jiraiya pales slightly. "He…survived?" he asks after a moment, voice gruff with poorly hidden surprise. "I thought that the Mizukage took care of him personally."

Tsunade sighs wearily, running a hand over her face as she turns back towards them, and for one brief moment, henge or not, she almost looks her age. "I'm not sure," she admits, folding her arms under her breasts in a movement that's almost defensive. "Youko said _Yondaime _Uzukage, so it's possible it's someone different. But it could also mean that he's just counting this as a new reign—and after the disastrous way his old one ended, I wouldn't blame him."

There's a long moment of silence, and then Jiraiya sighs too, resigned and faintly unhappy. "Tsunade, as much as I'd like to think so, the man was almost the same age as the Sandaime. He'd be over seventy right now, and as much as I admired Sensei's drive, I don't think a man of his age would have been able to rebuild his village from rubble after witnessing its destruction. And I don't think even the Storm God managed to attain immortality."

"Storm God?" Sasuke asks, unable to throttle back his curiosity in the face of an entire _village _showing up out of the blue. Because he's never heard of Uzushio, has never heard of Whirlpool Country mentioned, never even heard of an Uzumaki clan when apparently one of their members is a _Kage_. It's…unsettling, to think that if this has been so thoroughly missed in both daily life and an entire course at the Academy, there might be other things left out. Big things, as this seems to be.

Jiraiya glances over at him, as though he'd forgotten Sasuke's presence, and then nods. "Konoha had the God of Shinobi as Sandaime," he explains. "Uzushio had its Storm God. From how Sarutobi-sensei used to talk about him, he was second only to Senju Tobirama with his control of water—might have matched him, even, except that he dived his power between that and wind. Youngest Uzukage, if I remember correctly—hell, he might still be the youngest Kage elected period, unless the new Kazekage's beaten him there."

"His name was Arashi," Tsunade puts in, lips tilting into a faint, wistful smile. "My great-uncle took me to see his Jounin Exam in Uzushio, before I entered the Academy. Youko looks very much like him, probably more so because there have only ever been a handful of blond Uzumaki. But as far as I know, the Sandaime Uzukage was killed when Kiri invaded. Of course, I also believed that the entire village died with him, but apparently that's not correct."

Sasuke looks away, feeling an aching tightness in his chest at the thought of _his_ blond Uzumaki, who has Youko's bright, cheerful demeanor but none of his measured reserve or thoughtless, carelessly beautiful grace. Who vanished into the wind before he could hear about the homeland of his clan, hear about having a living family when he'd grown up an orphan.

"Do you think," he asks quietly, a wild hope he can't help but give voice to, "that Uzushio has something to do with Naruto leaving?"

A large hand settles on his shoulder, squeezing briefly before dropping away. "Or being taken," Jiraiya reminds him gently, something Sasuke himself has said over and over again for the last six years. "We don't know, Sasuke, and even if Uzushio is newly rebuilt, it's not a good idea to go around accusing them of stealing jinchuuriki. Especially if they've managed to keep knowledge of their village from everyone for so long. They must have one hell of a spymaster, honestly."

(Somewhere very, very far away, in the middle of browbeating two ridiculously stubborn chuunin back into their hospital beds through a combination of heavy-handed emotional manipulation and light blackmail, Kabuto sneezes.)

There's a long beat of silence, vaguely uncomfortable, and then Jiraiya sighs and steps back. "I'll see what I can find you," he promises. "But don't expect too much. If the Uzukage has managed to keep all of _this_ under wraps"—a wave of his hand encompasses the reconstruction and re-peopling of a whole hidden village— "then I've no doubt that the only thing getting out is exactly what he wants to get out."

Tsunade's huff is resigned. "Bring me everything you can," she orders. "And on those two messengers as well. I've got ANBU watching them, but if we're sheltering something that's going to blow up in our faces, I'd like to know ahead of time. There won't be another incident like with the Ichibi, not on my watch."

Sasuke leaves then, barely managing a polite nod to the Hokage as he goes. There's an itch under his skin, a restlessness that he knows comes from thinking far too much of Naruto in the space of a single day, and he can't help but try to outrun it, for all the such attempts never actually work.

_Left or was taken_, he thinks, crossing the rooftops in a series of quick bounds, and only managing to slow himself when he staggers into the peaceful solitude of Team 7's old training ground. _Honestly, I don't know which I want it to be. Because being taken means one thing. Leaving is another entirely._

* * *

"Fucking _hell_, that was nerve-wracking." Naruto barely waits to slap a sound-and-sight barrier on the wall of their hotel room before he drags his mask down and reaches up towards his eyes.

Haku catches his wrist before he can get the contacts out, though, raising one imperious eyebrow when Naruto levels a pout at him. "Our agreement, Naruto?" he reminds the blond pointedly, even as he tugs his visor up to his forehead. "You will keep at least a portion of your disguise the entire time we are on this mission, or I will not hesitate to freeze you solid and ship you back to Gaara."

Naruto rolls his eyes, even though he knows that it's not so much a threat as an oath. Haku had been…reluctant, when Naruto had first proposed this trip. He'd also argued harder than anyone against Naruto coming along, even though, with his personal knowledge of Konoha's shinobi and the village's layout, Naruto was the best choice.

But they've had this argument seven times already, three of those times on the way here, and Naruto would rather not rehash old territory that will leave him fuming and Haku giving him enough of a cold shoulder to make a glacier look warm and personable. So he leaves the contacts where they are and flops down on the bed, stretching out his senses. The seal is humming faintly, its barrier obscuring the view into the hotel room and muffling all sound, and beyond it he can feel chakra signatures flitting around the hotel's borders. And beyond that…

Konoha.

Naruto closes his eyes, strangling a sigh. It's…weird being back. When he'd first left, he'd had grand plans of returning with glory and then…well, doing _something_. Maybe dragging Sasuke off to see his village, or sweeping Sakura off her feet, or beating Kakashi in a spar. But then he'd rebuilt Uzushio, and something in his chest had just…settled. Eased. There's no more desperate drive to prove himself, because he _doesn't need to_. He's a Kage now, or again, and his village is beautiful and peaceful and prosperous. Small, yes, and secretive, but there's a reason for that last one. A reason that will hopefully be obsolete by the time the Chuunin Exams are over with.

He swallows a grimace. It had been a shock, to get to the gates and see Sasuke _right there_ and in the flesh after close to seven years of wondering. And Sasuke looks…good. He was always a beautiful kid, but now he's crossed the line into devastatingly and unfairly handsome, all dark hair and pale skin and sharp eyes, cheekbones to cut yourself on and carefully contained grace. He's grown up and filled out and just…gorgeous.

_Listen to me. I sound like an old man_. Naruto chuckles softly, pressing his palms over his eyes. It's hard, sometimes, having lived twice. When people ask him his age, it always takes concentrated effort not to answer "forty-five", the age at which he died the first time—or worse, "sixty-four", the sum of his ages from both lives. But the people of Uzushio and its various imports—Orochimaru's exchange shinobi, or whatever they're calling themselves, who followed Kabuto when the Snake Sannin made it quite clear he wasn't about to let his assistant go blindly, because he's not wholly the heartless bastard he pretends to be—are tolerant enough of his reincarnation and occasional descent into memories that few of them share. Maybe it's easy enough to accept after seeing an entire village rebuilt in the space of four years.

They've worked so hard, all of them. Civilians and shinobi and jinchuuriki alike, all toiling to rebuild a place lost decades ago, which a majority of them have either no memory of or no tie to. And they've _done it_. Uzushio is as it was before the invasion, beautiful and shining and bright, maybe not as densely populated but a _home_ for so many who had given up on ever finding such a thing. _His_ home, more than Konoha ever was, and he's so brilliantly, blindingly _happy_ there that is sometimes stops him in his tracks. Just—joy is an incredible thing, and he's never going to take it for granted.

The bed dips slightly, and Naruto blinks up at his friend as Haku leans over him, pretty features faintly lined with worry, though there's humor in his eyes.

"If you keep giggling to yourself like that, someone's going to think you're crazy," Haku warns, arching a brow.

Naruto arches his right back. "Like _that's_ never happened before," he scoffs. "And I wasn't _giggling_, I was _chuckling. _It's much manlier."

"Of course." Haku is better at that particular oh-look-I'm-humoring-you tone than anyone else Naruto has ever met, including Kabuto. There's a pause, and then Haku reaches out with a soft sigh and strokes Naruto's long hair back from his face, smoothing the golden strands carefully into place. "Are you all right, Naruto?" he asks gently. "I know you were prepared to see Sasuke-kun and Tsunade-sama, but…perhaps not at once and in such quick succession."

Naruto stares blankly up at the white ceiling for a moment before he manages to drag his gaze back down with a faint smile. "Yeah," he answers after a beat. "I _did_ realize what coming back here would mean, you know, but this is really the only way. We _have_ to find proof. Once we have it, if Orochimaru comes forward like he promised to, the bastard will go away for _good_. I don't want to have to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, just waiting for him to manipulate things again and dump another invasion in our laps. Uzushio…she won't be pleased."

Haku's answering smile is wry, and he tugs gently on a lock of hair. "I wasn't asking about your duty, Naruto," he chides softly. "I was asking about _you_. You've thought about Sasuke-kun quite a bit since we left. It's only logical that meeting him again would throw you off."

With a frustrated sound, Naruto presses his fingers over his eyes. "I'm an idiot," he mutters. "Damn it. He probably doesn't even care that I left. He and Sakura were always…I don't know, closer? Their relationship was easier, at least. She did what he wanted, and he didn't try too hard to drive her away. The two of us…I was never quite sure if he thought of us as friends or rivals. I know he was _my_ friend, but…that doesn't really count for a lot, in the end."

"We're going to be here for at least a month," Haku points out, rising gracefully and heading for his bag to start unpacking. "Maybe you'll be able to come to some sort of understanding in that amount of time."

"As Naruto, maybe we could. As Youko? I doubt it." Naruto sits up to watch his partner organize his senbon, then sighs and reaches up to pull the bell-strung ornaments from his hair, sending blond locks tumbling down around his face. They're Mio's, the ones she gave him that day in the market, and finding them amongst the rubble was a bittersweet and almost triumphant moment—but then, there were a lot of those, in the rebuilding. The bells are a little battered, and thin chain they're strung on is no longer quite as bright, but the tips are as sharp as ever and the delicate carvings unmarred. He folds his fingers around them, holding them for one more moment before setting them aside and lying back again, arms crossed behind his head.

The air here smells of leaves and damp earth and heat, so different from the cool, sea-sharp air he's become used to. To his surprise it isn't even particularly nostalgic, and it's that, more than anything, that twinges in his chest. Because this place was once an almost-home, and it's where a handful of his precious people still live, but beyond that…it's not _his _anymore. Uzushio is, and it has been since his first step across its border. Maybe since he first heard the city's call, that clear night six years ago—almost seven, now.

Konoha still matters, but it's a distant second, and that too is entirely bittersweet.


	9. 1st Movement: Requiem for Bells

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Slight language, mentions of Danzo as his asshole self, etc.

**Word Count: **~4000

**Pairings: **Sasuke/Naruto

**Cowriter/idea guru: **EmeraldBenu (\o/)

**Disclaimer: **I don't hold the copyrights, I didn't create them, and I make no profit from this.

**Notes: S**orry for the dely! My luch break (when I normally post) turned out not to involve either lunch or a break. :(

Because some lovely anon has been systematically going through all of my Naruto fics and flaming me for _not_ character bashing (yes, you read that right), I decided I'll put **my thoughts on bashing in general** up here for everyone to see. Please excuse the long note, but this is something I want to make clear. :)

First off: **I don't bash characters**, even if I personally don't like them. It's just ridiculous most of the time, and generally I try to keep my fics true to character, which bashing definitely is not. If you've got a problem with a character, you're probably best off shelving that while you read or simply moving on to another story. Naruto as a whole appeals to me, and because of that, I'll give every character—no matter my personal feelings about them—a chance.

So no, Sakura isn't going to turn into some raging, abusive harpy-bitch just because you don't like her, and cursing me out and saying there's something wrong with _me_ for liking her isn't going to do anything except make me think you're a confrontational moron. Okay? Okay. :)

[Teaser: Next chapter is _Hope in Harmony_.]

* * *

_**Stormborn**_

_Chapter Nine, First Movement: Requiem for Bells_

_[Requiem: A dirge, hymn, or musical service for the repose of the dead.]_

He dreams, as ever, of the past and present intertwined, of Konoha when there were only three faces on the mountain, one newly carved in honor of the third to wear the Hokage's hat. He dreams of walking through streets untouched by damage from Kurama, or Orochimaru's failed invasion, with his usual escort long since abandoned and the Fire Country sun hot on his face.

"Arashi!" a man calls, and Naruto turns with a grin lighting up his features at the sound of it.

"Saru!" he calls back, even as the Sandaime Hokage, missing all signs of his office beyond a Konoha hitai-ate, jogs a few steps to fall in beside him.

Hiruzen makes a face at him, heedless of his dignity—but then, he's only been Hokage for a handful of weeks, not long enough to grow stiff yet. "I really wish you wouldn't call me that," he complains.

Naruto laughs and stretches his arms above his head as they enter the training grounds, twisting to pop his spine into alignment. "Ah, but if I don't, who will?" he asks cheerfully. "If you're not careful, you might turn into one of those stuffy old men squirreled away in the office all the time. As your friend, it's my duty to save you from such a fate."

"How kind of you," Hiruzen drawls, not quite managing to hide the roll of his eyes. But he doesn't complain when Naruto takes a seat beneath an old, spreading oak tree, just joins him, leaning back against the rough bark with a sigh. The day is lazy and muggy, a thunderstorm threatening at the edges of the sky but still a ways off, and for once there are no pressing duties to attend to, nothing to demand their attention for a few hours at least.

"Are you staying long this time?" Hiruzen asks at length. "Just so I know how much of an allowance for damages to write into the yearly budget, of course."

Naruto snorts, shaking his head. The two silver bells he's wearing, threaded onto red ribbons and securing his long hair in a loose tail, chime softly with the motion. He's never managed to break the habit of wearing such things, not since Mio's gift of her belled hair ornaments. Those are reserved for special occasions, or moments where he's feeling especially sentimental, but he has others to wear now as well.

"Yui's in charge back home, and Shunka is…'helping' her," he says with amusement, thinking of how his petite, waifish, and entirely hotheaded assistant and laid-back, lazy, forever-amused jounin sub-commander are likely butting heads at this very moment. They've never gotten along. Naruto likes to call it unresolved sexual tension, but that always makes Yui call him a pig and Shunka smile threateningly and finger her kunai. Ginrei, the Chief Medic, agrees with Naruto—but then, Ginrei has always been a fan of anything that ruffles Shunka's feathers. "Honestly, if I'm gone more than a week, I think one of them will hunt me down and drag me back hogtied and screaming."

Hiruzen laughs, because he met both kunoichi the last time Naruto was in Konoha, several months before Tobirama's death, and therefore understands that there's a fifty-fifty chance that Uzushio will have gone up in flames by the time Naruto gets back. Perhaps literally, even—unusually for an Uzumaki, Yui has a fire affinity.

"I wish you the best of luck, but would not take your place for all the glory in the world," he informs his friend, shaking his head. He stretches his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankle, and then sighs. "Sandaime Hokage. Gods. What was Sensei thinking?"

Naruto studies him for a moment, seeing the faint lines of well-hidden grief, and has to conceal a wince. Konoha is only recently come from a war, and everyone is mourning someone. Hiruzen more than most, with the loss of his mentor as well as his comrades. He's reached the highest position a shinobi can, but the glory is bittersweet. Uzushio is lucky—so far, both of its previous Kages retired peacefully. Konoha, on the other hand, is getting a bad track record.

But the sun is bright and the trees are green and children are laughing somewhere in the distance. Konoha is still standing, regardless of its losses, and the day is too nice to linger on grim thoughts. Decided, Naruto darts his hand forward in a blur of motion and yanks on Hiruzen's goatee none too gently.

Sarutobi Hiruzen, Sandaime Hokage of the oldest shinobi village and one of the most powerful ninja in the Elemental Countries, squawks, flails, and almost tumbles over backwards in an attempt to get away.

Never one to waste an advantage, Naruto takes the opportunity to get safely out of range. Only then does he allow himself to shake with laughter at the sight of his friend. "You mean Tobirama? He was thinking that with that old man beard, you already looked the part, of course," he taunts between fits of giggles at the other man's expression.

"You_ brat_," Hiruzen hisses, even as he rises to his feet with a growl and throws himself forward. Naruto ducks away, but he's laughing too hard to make a good show if it, and the Hokage catches him around the waist in a lunge and bears them both to the ground. They wrestle for a moment, attempting to grind each other's faces into the grass, before Hiruzen takes advantage of proximity and snags the bells from Naruto's hair. Naruto splutters as the locks come tumbling down into his eyes and mouth, and Hiruzen crows his triumph as the Uzukage falters, squirming out of the blond's grasp like an eel and retreating a few feet to brandish his prize.

"These are mine now," he tells Naruto smugly, tucking them away in his kunai pouch with an entirely unnecessary flourish. "Consider it fit payment for your assault on the Hokage's person."

Naruto sticks his tongue out at him, even as he climbs to his feet. With a huff, he winds his fingers in his hair and drags it out of his face, grimacing at the leaves and twigs now littering it. "Bastard," he mutters halfheartedly. "What are you going to do with _bells_? Pretty as you are, Hiruzen, I don't think they're quite your color."

"Lies," Hiruzen parries cheerfully, though he gives in and passes Naruto a pair of senbon to use instead. "Red is most certainly my color. And I'm not sure yet. Maybe I'll make a teamwork exercise out of them, and use it on my genin team when I get one."

"Bells?" Naruto repeats skeptically, twisting his hair into a sloppy bun and sliding the slender needles through to secure it. "What the hell kind of teamwork exercise can you do with _bells_?"

"Never underestimate the sadistic imagination of a jounin sensei." Hiruzen grins at him, then turns in the direction of the village. "Come on," he calls over his shoulder. "A new ramen stand just opened near the Administration Building, and I've been wanting to try it. Your treat, right?"

Rolling his eyes, Naruto follows. "_My_ treat? Hiruzen, if you think that you can get out of paying _every time_ just because I missed your appointment ceremony—"

"It was a very important day for me," Hiruzen says solemnly, though his dark eyes are dancing. "Life-altering. And it truly broke my heart to see that one of my best friends didn't even bother to put in an appearance. Shattered it all into pieces, really, so take responsibility for your actions, Arashi."

"Does Konoha know they have a great big _moocher_ as Hokage?" Naruto retorts, but he doesn't resist as Hiruzen steers them towards the ramen stand. "I feel like I'm socially obligated to warn someone about this. It could spell absolute _disaster_ for your economy, and then Uzushio would be left to pick up the pieces after Konoha's destruction by its _enormous moocher_ of a leader."

"This coming from the man who leaves _mortal enemies_ in charge of his village while he's away? And not just mortal enemies, but a ridiculously strong Katon user with a hair-trigger temper and an assassin so skilled at silent killing that she gives _Kiri Hunter-nin_ nightmares?"

"I wouldn't go so far as to call them _mortal enemies_—"

"Oh, really? Then what _would_ you call them?"

"…Um. Rivals?"

"_Rivals_ generally doesn't include wanting to rip each other's throats out barehanded. And I _know_ Yui-san threatened to do that last time you left her alone with Ookami-san."

"Oh, shut up, _Saru_."

* * *

(Jiraiya goes to his old teacher, the first time he's assigned a genin team of his own, and asks if Sarutobi would be alright with him using the bell test his own team had been given that first day.

Sarutobi just looks at him for a long moment, seated behind his desk with his pipe in one hand, and then he very, very carefully reaches into his robes and withdraws a pair of silver bells strung on crimson ribbons. He weighs them in his hand for a moment, and then asks, "Do you remember meeting Uzumaki Arashi, Jiraiya?"

Jiraiya blinks at the unexpected question, rocking back on his heels and chewing on a corner of his lip. "I…do," he affirms after a moment, because it's hard to _forget_ a man like Arashi, forever smiling and laughing and still unspeakably deadly, a friendly summer sea just barely concealing the furious tempest beyond the horizon. Jiraiya had seen the aftermath of the attack on Uzushio, and despite the ruined city, what had caught his attention first was the graveyard of Kiri ships off the coast, torn apart by wind and water wielded by a man who more than lived up to his title.

He also remembers meeting their teacher at the training grounds one bright and sunny morning—long after they all became jounin, and a handful of weeks after Mito's death left Uzumaki Kushina the Kyuubi jinchuuriki—only to find absolute destruction, rubble and craters and fire, and Sarutobi in the midst of it all, expression flat and eyes burning. Tsunade had asked what was wrong, but he'd said nothing, and it was only later that they found out Uzushio had been leveled almost two weeks past, before they could even call for help.

Sarutobi sighs, then, drawing Jiraiya's gaze again, and reaches out. Carefully, with a faint sense of ceremony, he takes Jiraiya's wrist, tips the bells into his broad palm, and gently closes his fingers over them.

"Those were his," he says softly, withdrawing three paces to stand by the window, his face backlit by the sunlight and entirely unreadable. "He let me have them after I stole them in a spar, and I used them for the bell test in honor of his loyalty to his friends and his dedication to the people of his village. You are welcome to them, Jiraiya, but…if you pass them on, would you remember?"

Throat thick, Jiraiya simply nods, carefully transferring the bells to his own pouch and then bowing to his teacher. "I won't forget," he promises, and he doesn't.

Minato hears the story, when he gets his genin team.

Kakashi hears it, too, though it means less to him by then, Uzushio faded to a collective memory that's rarely discussed. But he hears it, remembers, and Sarutobi watches it all, and thinks of laughter in the sunlight and the bright, sweet chime of bells.)

* * *

They've times their arrival in Konoha just right—there's no moon, and clouds cover vast swathes of stars, leaving the village dark and eerie, the shadows drowning-deep and all but unbroken. Naruto moves quick and silent through them, not needing to look to know that Haku is flanking him.

Here and there, scattered across the village in one and twos and small, tight clusters, are chakra signatures—not of people, but of _seals._ Tiny bits of darkness, shards no one but a fuinjutsu master familiar with the organization would think to track, but Naruto can feel them all like pins against his skin. Each and every one of the sorry bastards.

He comes to a halt at the edge of a boundary fence, tall and imposing and far more dangerous than it appears at first glance, and feels more than sees Haku slide up into the branches of the oak at the corner. A pause, and Naruto counts his heartbeats to control his impatience—he's gotten better at these kinds of missions, remembers enough about being Arashi and from his own genin days to contain himself, but it's still not _him_. Not natural or desired in any sort of way. But there are only a few seconds before frost forms on the ground in front of him, shaping itself into four parallel lines.

Four guards, then. All Root ANBU, but that's to be expected. Naruto gives the signal to go and bounds over the fence in a flash that's almost too quick to be seen, then drops into the beautifully arranged garden on the other side and crouches in the bushes there, sense straining for any movement. But there's none, only a faint whispering breeze he can tell is natural, and he lets out a slow, silent breath in relief.

One obstacle down. Only about a hundred more to go.

God, Danzo is such a paranoid bastard.

Though, granted, considering the number of people who would happily slit his throat—and not just among Konoha's enemies—perhaps it's justified.

Another thirty seconds of silence, just to make sure they haven't been spotted, and then Haku joins him in a flicker of speed and shadows. His visor is gone, as is Naruto's mask—both are distinctive, easily identifiable, and if they're caught here and doing this they're going to have a lot more to worry about than just having their faces bare.

A guard passes, going left, and a moment later one in the opposite direction. Naruto feels their seals disappear into the distance and then raises a hand, fingers twisting as he signs, _take a clockwise run, seals every ten meters, three minute window to meet up._

Haku nods in understanding, already pulling a stack of paper squares from his weapons pouch as he slips away. Naruto doesn't let himself watch his friend go—he's a Kage, Haku is a skilled jounin and regularly plays his bodyguard, and they're both more than capable of looking out for each themselves. Instead, he pulls out his own sealing papers and lays one against the wall, right where it joins the ground, and it settles into place with barely a flicker of chakra. As long as he waits for the guards to pass him before he sets them, they should go unnoticed.

The seals are glorified recording devices, honestly, though it took Naruto weeks to tweak them enough to work for something like this. This is Danzo's stronghold, his lair, but when he and Haku are done ringing it with seals designed to record and remember chakra signatures, present wards, and guard rotations, they'll have a way in.

Of course, there's a chance that Danzo hides all of his information and records somewhere else, but Naruto doesn't think that's likely. After all, the man is suspicious and obsessed, and he probably won't want to risk anyone else running across his files should they stumble on some other hideout. Here in his house he likely feels safe.

Naruto won't let him hold on to that safety for long. Not after what he did. Not after what he'll do in the future if he's not stopped now.

He slaps his last seal into place just as Haku slides empty-handed through the bushes, entirely unharmed. The brunet nods to signal that everything's well, then leaps the wall in a blur. There's no outcry, no sudden alarm, so Naruto follows him, touching down lightly in the streets.

He's…angry, and it's not a familiar sensation. Not anymore, at least, because regardless of the destruction that Uzushio faced it's better now, repaired and rebuilt and as strong as ever, but—

But that likely won't last long, if Danzo has his way.

Uzumaki Reisi was a good, kind child, Naruto knows, forever soft-spoken and easygoing in direct contrast to his hotheaded aunt. That last glimpse of him—horrified, haunted, _angry_—has troubled Naruto since he first saw it. The boy was a chuunin, but an elite one, and particularly clever. He'd gone to Konoha some months before the invasion, studying the Katon techniques that few in Whirlpool Country could teach him, and when he had come back it seemed nothing had changed. But clearly something had, and combining knowledge of that with Orochimaru and Kabuto's tales of Root and Danzo's machinations during the Third Shinobi War, the picture becomes unhappily clear.

Naruto has no body to check for a seal, no way to tell if he's correct in his suspicions, but he'll raid Danzo's files to find out and not feel an ounce of shame in doing so. For Reisi, for Yui, for all of Uzushio and what Danzo likely wrought, he'll do it.

For them, he won't let anyone or anything stop him.

* * *

Sakura finds Sasuke in the bar just after midnight, the way she always seems to when his late-night drinking stretches to lengths she considers excessive. It's rarely the same bar, and never the same one twice in a row, since Sasuke has no attachment to the places beyond a desire for darkness, solitude, and lots of high-proof alcohol, which in a shinobi bar tends to be the standard. But regardless, as soon as twelve o'clock passes, if he isn't headed back to his apartment, she inevitably slides onto the stool beside him a few minutes later.

If he were a more suspicious person, he might think it was a conspiracy.

"Long day?" she asks him now, signaling for the bartender to bring her one of what Sasuke's having. Sasuke tosses back the last of his and thinks vaguely that she's going to regret it, Tsunade-trained tolerance or not. He'll drink for the taste, certainly, but not at times like this. Not when all day has been filled fit to bursting with thoughts of their lost teammate. He knows better than to try and drink away his memories, knows from experience that alcohol never drowns out blue eyes or an achingly familiar voice, but it…helps. It blunts the sharp, cutting edges of his thoughts, and gives him enough peace to sleep. Even times like now, when he's learned that Naruto still has _family_ out there, and what if he went to them? What if he left Konoha because there was nothing here for him

(because Sasuke wasn't _enough_)

and went to live with this other Uzumaki who's a Kage and rebuilt his village and a _relative_ which is something Sasuke will never be—

"Hey!" A fist impacts the top of his head—gently, for Sakura, which likely means she's actually worried about him. Sasuke doesn't quite yelp, but it's a near thing. He pulls back, wrenches around, and glares at the kunoichi, who raises an unimpressed eyebrow in return.

"Long day?" she repeats. "Because I could have _sworn_ that you and Ino were commiserating about having gate guard duty last night, and as far as I'm aware there were no major invasions today. So why are you attempting to pickle yourself, Sasuke?"

Sasuke gives her a moody look and steals the glass as the bartender attempts to pass it to her. He downs it in one go, then orders, "Just bring the bottle," and waves the man away. It's a stall, though, and from the way Sakura is watching him she knows it.

He's never been good with words—"painfully awful" is closer to the truth, really—so he doesn't try to sugarcoat anything as he rubs his hands over his face and asks, "Have you ever heard of Uzushiogakure?"

"Yes," Sakura answers promptly, which is…to be expected, likely. Sasuke considers -himself fairly book-smart, but he's never been as voracious a learner as Sakura, who likes knowing things just for the sheer joy of knowing them. "A former shinobi village in Whirlpool Country, traditionally allies with Konoha, which was destroyed by Kiri during the Third Shinobi World War. Konoha flak jackets all bear Uzushio's spiral mark as a sign of the long-standing friendship between the villages."

"Rebuilt, now," Sasuke tells her, mouth tightening as he remembers the pair at the gates. "Two of their emissaries arrived today. And one of them said that their Kage is an Uzumaki."

Sakura gets it in the space of a heartbeat, and as the bartender sets their sake down, she snags it, pops the cork, and takes a long swallow directly from the bottle. The implications are clear enough, really. They've been looking for any sign of Naruto for years, Sakura as well in the beginning though she's mostly given up hope now. And in seven years, they've never found so much as a hint, not a word with any sort of dependability behind it.

Family is family, and if the reason they haven't found anything is the same as the reason no one has heard of Uzushio's reconstruction—seals and barriers and a good spymaster, Jiraiya had said—then maybe, maybe—

Maybe there's finally a chance.


	10. 1st Movement: Hope in Harmony

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Slight language, name-calling, death threats, trained monkey!Sasuke, etc.

**Word Count: **~3700

**Pairings: **Sasuke/Naruto

**Disclaimer: **I don't hold the copyrights, I didn't create them, and I make no profit from this.

**Notes: **So my twin brother (*cough* enabler) and I currently have a bit of a bet going as to who can come up with the crackiest Naruto pairing, and I thought I'd invite others to join in the fun! We're excluding Naruto himself, as it seems he has at least one pairing story with pretty much every character imaginable, and have agreed to stick to slash or femslash stories, but otherwise it's all fair game! Winner (to be judged by my brother and myself) gets a story for their crack pairing and the infamy of coming up with it, so if you'd like to throw an idea out there, feel free. We welcome them. We're judging "crackiest" on the grounds of weirdest-in-regards-to-their-canon-relationship, if that helps. ;)

[Teaser: Next chapter is _Fugue for False Firsts_.]

* * *

_**Stormborn**_

_Chapter Ten, First Movement: Hope in Harmony_

_[Harmony: Pleasing combination of two or three notes played together in the background while a melody is being played; also refers to the study of chord progressions.]_

"There's a Kiri ship circling the island," Utakata says, his voice suspiciously mild, hands neatly tucked away inside the sleeves of his kimono. "It appears they're trying to find a way around the barrier."

Gaara glances up from the stacks of paperwork foresting his desk and silently raises one brow. He knows as well as anyone that Utakata has no love for his former village, and even less for anyone considering attacking his new one. In the face of his charming and carefree manner it's easy to forget just what he is, what he can be. But Saiken is a formidable opponent, and Utakata has always had a close connection with him, even since before Killer Bee taught Uzushio's jinchuuriki how to communicate with their bijuu.

"You're certain?" he asks after a moment, because they're all a little tense with their Kage gone, and Gaara doesn't want Naruto to come back and laugh at them for jumping at shadows. Though, of course, he also doesn't want to dismiss something important and have Naruto return to a burned-out husk, either.

Utakata nods, solemn and thoughtful. "I am. They hide it well—had I not taken a second look, I might have dismissed it as a simple fishing boat. But I trained on such a craft, and I know the signs. There are shinobi aboard, and if they're not the majority of the crew at the very least, I'll eat my pipe."

This is…not an ideal situation. Gaara glowers down at the surface of the desk, pondering what to do. They could sink the ship, of course—even Gaara's genin would be capable of such a feat, given Naruto's training guidelines—but that would be the first step towards war. And Uzushio, for all its strength, is not ready for a war. Not with Danzo still a threat.

"We will have to do something," Utakata reminds him, almost gently. "There are still shinobi who remember the last time Kiri was at our borders, and what came of it. Even if the sum of your actions is sending a messenger hawk to notify Uzukage-sama, it will keep them happy. Perhaps not as happy as tearing a Kiri ship to pieces would, but enough."

Gaara remembers the destruction he first saw, when he and Naruto and Haku arrived at the edge of a city's corpse. He remembers the bones that they piled up, hundreds of lives lost and practically forgotten in the scheme of the world. Remembers the tears of an old man, his white hair just touched with red, when he had set foot on the docks and seen the city rising proud and stately before him once again.

In the face of that, Gaara thinks that he too would be quite happy tearing a Kiri ship to pieces.

"I will send a hawk to Naruto," he agrees at length, looking back up to meet Utakata's steady amber gaze. "Fū and Roushi are still within the village?"

The sub-commander nods. "Roushi just returned from a meeting with the Daimyo, and Fū is currently drilling her genin team. Should I call them?"

"No, but put them on alert and have them ready if an attack does come," Gaara orders, rising to his feet. "I will notify the jounin forces and have Karin check the barrier. Short of declaring war, that is all we can do for now."

He turns away as Utakata bows and retreats, lets his attention fall on the wide window overlooking the village, all the way down to the azure sea. There are people, civilians and shinobi alike, moving down there, and Gaara wonders whether it's paranoia to think that they look just a little more wary than they did on his walk here.

"Come home quickly, Naruto," he murmurs to the empty office that all but radiates its normal occupant's force of will. Comforting, in such times, but not enough. Not nearly. Uzushio is Naruto's village, through and through. "You are needed here."

* * *

The first thing that registers is dull throb behind his temples. Then it's his parched throat, the foul taste in his mouth, and the feel of a familiar and sharp-edged chakra looming over him.

"Geez," an equally familiar voice huffs. "So this is what Konoha's elite get up to on a Thursday night? I don't know whether to be disapproving of your life choices or disappointed that you didn't invite me."

"Ino, you cruel, evil harpy-bitch," Sakura groans. "_Ow._ And it was an impromptu war council and brainstorming session. What were you going to contribute exactly?"

"I'm going to chop you into pieces," Ino says cheerfully, settling cross-legged on the floor beside the couch Sasuke and Sakura had managed to drag themselves to last night. "Slowly. Painfully. Lee will be heartbroken, I'm sure."

Sasuke manages to peel one eyelid back despite his body's strident protests. When nothing implodes or catches on fire, he tries the other one and is vaguely pleased with the results. The ache in his head is manageable, as is state of his stomach. He's always been fairly resilient, and traveling with Jiraiya required a strong dose of liquid courage enough times that his tolerance is at least respectable.

"We think Naruto went to Uzushio," he says once he's semi-upright enough to fake coherency. "Maybe one of his family met him and told him they were rebuilding the village, or they just took him away, but since he's dropped off the map it's the best bet we have."

Ino grins at him, bright and wicked and looking far, far too awake for this hour of the morning. She's also perfectly dressed in her clean, unwrinkled uniform, and even her hair looks perky. Sasuke vaguely sort of hates her for it, since he feels like he got run over by a small herd of wildebeests sometime last night. "Aww, what a letdown. I wanted to see him dressed as a dancing girl," she complains, but then sobers slightly. "Let me guess, you're going to stage a kidnapping and pump the cute blond one for answers?"

Sasuke grunts. They'd considered it, about two bottles in. But… "Tsunade would eat my face," he says, and pretends that it doesn't sound glum. "She's touchy about the Uzushio thing."

"Mine too," Sakura chimes in, clearly disappointed as she levers herself up on one elbow, looking mostly unaffected by the night. Apparently having a sake-loving lush for a master is good for something. "Even if they _do_ have information on Naruto, he's officially only a genin-level missing-nin, and causing a diplomatic incident with a newly reestablished shinobi village—and one of Konoha's traditional allies—over him will probably make her head explode from all the political repercussions."

That is, in a nutshell, exactly why Sasuke sympathizes with Jiraiya's determination to never become Hokage. Tsunade is good at it. Sasuke just would not give a shit, no matter the consequences. He's bad at that kind of thing, and always has been.

"Polite interrogation, then?" Ino asks. "Or, well, whatever Sasuke-kun's version of it is."

Sasuke suspects he should be offended by that, but his desire for coffee overrides it and he pushes himself off the couch, untangling his legs from Sakura's and sparing a moment to be deeply, _deeply_ grateful that it wasn't Lee who walked in on them. He can only stand so many challenges in the name of Sakura's honor, after all, and he's already reached his monthly quota.

"Sasuke, coffee," Sakura orders, then flicks a glance at Ino, who grins and nods. "Two of them. And then get out, find the Uzushio nin, and get us some answers."

"This is _my_ house!" Sasuke protests, even though he's already heading for the kitchen. "You can't kick me out!" The only response is twin giggles and he rolls his eyes, stalking over to add water to the coffee pot. He remembers Naruto taking Sakura's hits, untrained as they were, and then brushing them off when they were kids, and is a little amazed by it. He'd much rather suffer through her orders and just get it over with than risk her punching him through another wall.

"I should have run away with Naruto," he grumbles, watching the pot fill with coffee, the scent alone returning life to his limbs. "If I had known that staying meant becoming your _trained monkey_—"

"Stop complaining," Ino advises, wandering in and laying out three mugs. Sasuke narrows his eyes at her; despite appearances and her and Sakura's apparent misconceptions, this is _his house_, _damn it_. "You know you love us both to pieces and your life would be a barren, wasted thing without us."

Sasuke knows no such thing, and gives her a glare that he hopes indicates this, folding his arms over his chest. He's entirely aware that he cuts an impressive figure, one that fully intimidates ANBU trainees and sends them cowering over to the less intimidating Ino with their questions. Of course, after that they quickly learn that there's a _reason_ Ino wears a tiger mask, and it isn't because of some overinflated sense of self-worth.

Ino ignores him, as she always does and always _has_, and cheerfully orders, "Sugar, Sasuke-kun," with a bright grin.

Sasuke doesn't even hesitate to pass over the bowl of salt, baring his teeth right back.

Sakura, just sidling into the kitchen, catches Ino's hand half a second before the blonde doctors her cup, tips the salt back into the bowl, and retrieves the sugar from the top shelf. She shoots her genin teammate a dry look and tells Ino, "Sasuke doesn't like sweet things, so he never keeps them on hand. If it's in reach, it's not sugar."

That earns Sasuke a raised brow from the blonde as well, but Ino simply murmurs, "Noted," and wanders away with her mug. Sasuke can hear her flop down on the couch, and winces, imagining brown stains everywhere.

"Be nice, Sasuke," Sakura warns, taking her own mug and adding milk until it's a pale beige. Sasuke winces at that, too. Adding anything at all to black coffee seems like sacrilege. She takes a long sip, humming in satisfaction, just to be petty, then lowers the cup with a sigh and says, "You're going to talk to them today?"

Sasuke doesn't have to ask who she's talking about. "Of course. If Naruto is in Uzushio, he'll be memorable. They'll know him." Of that, at least, Sasuke has no doubt. No one can just _forget _Uzumaki Naruto. Not even when they try. Sasuke knows that from experience, not that he tried very hard or for very long. It was just…frustration. Hopelessness.

But this is a hope. This is a _chance._

He bolts his coffee back, barely registering the heat of it, and then heads to his bedroom to change clothes. Even if he's never been one for social niceties, appearing in front of two men who know Naruto—who might _carry word back to him_—in clothes that smell like the floor of a bar with yesterday's five o'clock shadow taking over his face is not acceptable. Moreover, it's something _Jiraiya_ might do, and Sasuke would fling himself off a cliff just to be contrary if Jiraiya told him not to.

"Don't destroy my house," he growls at the two women sprawled out in his living room as he stalks past. Ino just toasts him with her mug, while Sakura rolls her eyes and makes a face at him.

"Live a little, Sasuke," she retorts. "What's a couch without a few coffee stains?"

"_Mine_," Sasuke instantly counters. "I will trap you in a nightmare where Shikamaru is your husband if you spill so much as a drop. And Ino, I'll make yours being married to Lee."

That gets him twin cries of protest and offense, but Sasuke is already out the door and gone.

* * *

It's easy enough to find the inn where the two Uzushio nin are staying—it's the only one in Konoha with an ANBU contingent camped out around it. Sasuke pauses on the edge of a rooftop, covertly studying the guard. He recognizes the squad, and knows who will doubtless be in command, so he gives a surreptitious signal and then drops into a narrow alley between a seamstress's shop and a liquor store.

Five seconds later, another shape follows him down, familiar despite the sparrow mask he's wearing. Neji lands lightly, barely stirring the dust beneath his sandals, and nods. "Uchiha."

"Hyuuga," Sasuke returns, though he feels some of the tension in his shoulders easing. Neji is…not a friend, exactly, but an ally. They've both been looking for Naruto, both aware of the aching hole of his presence and the _value_ of him even if few others will see it, and even if Neji isn't quite as fervent about looking as Sasuke, well—few people are.

They're both geniuses, both utter morons. And it took Naruto to make them realize it.

"The visitors?" Sasuke asks, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back against the wall.

Neji huffs, sounding faintly offended. "They raised some sort of barrier at first," he says darkly, "one that the Byakugan could not get past. It blocked both sight and hearing within the room for the first hour, but since then the sight component has come down. We've been on duty since yesterday afternoon, and nothing beyond that has occurred." He looks Sasuke over for a moment, and then adds quietly, "They keep mentioning their kage. An Uzumaki."

Sasuke nods, but doesn't go into detail; Neji is more than capable of reading in between the lines, and he knows Naruto has been Sasuke's first priority for almost a decade now. "I'm going to talk to them," he says, practically daring Neji to stop him, and moves in a blur, leaping up to the roof and over to land on the balcony next to the room Ino checked the foreign nin into.

To his surprise, the dark-haired one—Yuki—is perched on the windowsill, cleaning his senbon with his hair down but his visor in place. As Sasuke straightens, he sets the polishing cloth aside and glances up, then cuts Sasuke off before he can even open his mouth.

"You'll want to direct any questions you have towards Youko," he offers, a faintly wry smile tipping the edges of his mouth. "He is the one with the position and authorization to answer them. I'm just here to see that he doesn't kill himself doing something noble and foolish."

Sasuke snorts. "Is that likely?" But then he remembers Youko's easy, cheerful trust at the gate, and tacks on, "Never mind. Is he here?"

Yuki shakes his head and points south with one of his senbon. "He went to explore the market earlier. Since I assumed there was little trouble he could find with an entire ANBU guard platoon in tow, I elected to remain here. He should be simple to find—just listen for laughter."

Barely swallowing a huff of his own amusement at the image, Sasuke nods his thanks and leaps up to the rooftop again, inclining his head to Neji and then heading for the market with swift steps.

It's not quite as easy to find Youko as Yuki made it out to be, of course. The market is large and busy and hectic, but Sasuke was a good memory for chakra, and Youko's had felt like sea air on his face yesterday, easy enough to pinpoint against the fire-heat and earth-warmth of Konoha's population. He wonders, as he scans the crowds, if Youko is an Uzumaki, since he didn't give a clan name, but in the end it doesn't really matter. Either way he should have the information Sasuke needs.

A moment of looking and he finally latches on to that whisper of chakra, cool and light, almost the way Naruto's was but fainter, not quite as deep. Smaller reserves, Sasuke supposes, or Youko is better at hiding his chakra. The blond is perched on a rooftop to Sasuke's left, watching the people below with an easy sort of humor. He looks up as Sasuke approaches, politely keeping his speed down so as not to startle the Uzushio nin, and offers a smile just barely visible beneath his mask.

"Uchiha-san," he greets cheerfully, leaning back on his hands. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

Sasuke nods, just barely containing himself from battering the blond with questions, and slowly takes a seat beside him. He wonders how best to approach the subject, and then decides that since his tact is pretty much nonexistent anyways, he might as well just dive in headfirst like he always does.

"Uzumaki Naruto," he says, and hopes his voice isn't as desperate as he feels. "Do you know him?"

Youko doesn't stiffen. All of his muscles stay loose and his posture remains easy, but Sasuke is watching and can see the way the lines around his eyes deepen, the green darkening ever so slightly. A reaction, which means he's at least heard of Naruto.

"There are a lot of Uzumaki in Whirlpool," is all the man says, though, his tone light and breezy. "May I ask why you want to know, Uchiha-san?"

That's a non-answer if Sasuke has ever heard one, and he can feel his heartbeat pick up slightly in his chest. _Yes_.

"Naruto was my genin teammate," he says evenly, not letting his sudden euphoria show. "He vanished seven years ago, and I've been looking for him ever since. You said that Uzushio is the home of the Uzumaki clan, so I thought…"

He trails off into silence, and Youko doesn't pick up the thread. He simply stares out over the market, expression hidden as he turns his face away, but Sasuke has learned patience over the years and waits him out.

For Naruto, for even the vaguest _hint_, he could wait a decade.

"Uzushio's population scattered, after the invasion," Youko says at length, shaking his head. The bells strung on his hair-sticks chime brightly, a mockery of lightness against the tone of the conversation. "Uzukage-sama called them back to rebuild. There are…missing-nin among us. Missing-nin and deserters and shinobi who never had a place to call their own. It's a village of outcasts and castaways, and all of us come from somewhere else, or by way of somewhere else. You can…understand why I might hesitate to give away information on a possible Uzushio shinobi."

Sasuke understands, but that in no way means he has to like it, or even accept it. He grits his teeth as the words resound in his head—_a village of outcasts and castaways_, and if anything has ever described what Naruto was to Konoha that's it. Proof enough, likely, that Naruto is in this new village, among others like himself—

The pieces connect.

Oh.

_Oh._

_The jinchuuriki_, he wants to say, remembering Jiraiya's information on Utakata, on Roushi, on Fū, remembering Gaara and his lonely sort of fury. Missing-nin or outcasts or both, all of them, and surely, surely Uzushio would not be this defensive if they had nothing to protect, nothing to hide.

When Sasuke blinks away the sudden rush of thoughts and looks over, he's met by solemn green eyes framed by tumbled locks of sun-bleached blond hair, an expression with gravity and determination and fierce, ferocious protectiveness all wound together.

Youko isn't going to tell him anything more, and there's a warning in his eyes for Sasuke to keep what he _has_ said to himself. It's a show of trust when none was asked for, an offering that says, more than anything, that Sasuke's hope is not misplaced. Because Uzushio is a village for the lost and the displaced, the wanderers and the dispossessed, populated with jinchuuriki and Uzumaki and shinobi with nowhere else to go, and surely Naruto is among them.

Sasuke closes his eyes, and the feeling in his chest is too bittersweet to be a victory, too sharp and hot and aching for any sort of triumph, but it's something.

After nearly a decade of nothing at all, something is in itself a victory.


	11. 1st Movement: Fugue for False Firsts

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Slight language, mentions of past OC death, screwed up!Sasuke, slightly picking on Kakashi (for a reason), etc.

**Word Count: **~4100

**Pairings: **Sasuke/Naruto

**Disclaimer: **I don't hold the copyrights, I didn't create them, and I make no profit from this.

**Notes: **I tend to make up playlists for characters, rather than for a story as a whole. It helps me in adopting a certain character's headspace. For those who are interested, I've put up the ones I currently have for this story on my profile. Some of the music is fairly obscure, so I don't know that you can find all of it, but I thought it might be entertaining. It also gives a couple of plot hints, at least in terms of characters coming into play fairly soon. :)

(I know everyone wants Naruto POV on that last Sasuke-Youko conversation, and you'll get it. Just…next chapter.)

[Teaser: Next chapter is _Lost Son Dissonance_.]

* * *

_**Stormborn**_

_Chapter Eleven, First Movement: Fugue for False Firsts_

_[Fugue: A composition written for three to six voices. Beginning with the exposition, each voice enters at different times, creating counterpoint with one another.]_

Their first real meeting face to face—not glowing eyes in the darkness, not ominous voices and shadowy figures and the dim-dark of a sewer around them—comes three months after the first group of returning refugees staggers into Uzushio.

There are people in the village now, many of them, and Naruto walks among them and _knows_ them. He _remembers_ them. A girl who once sold flowers by the fountain before the Administrative Center, now with more white than brown in her hair. An old man, hardly able to walk unaided but sharp of mind and tongue, who once worked the Mission Assignment desk, and who looks at Arashi—Naruto, he's Naruto now in this life, more or less—with almost desperate eyes. A little boy he once carried on his shoulders, grown with children of his own. A woman, bent with age, who was once a child hiding behind her parents' robes at his inauguration.

And they know _him_, have known him since they first set foot in Uzushio once more, and Naruto will never forget it, an old man with once-blue hair gone snowy white with time, a Suoh who taught him how to throw a senbon as a child, picking his slow and careful way down the ramp of the ship to the newly rebuilt dock. He'd paused then—Suoh Tomi, who always had a gruff word of advice, a moment to spare for answering even the smallest of questions—with both feet on solid ground, and Naruto had stepped forward, his heart in his throat.

"I saw you," Tomi had said, voice creaking with age but gaze unwavering, leaning against a pillar as though it was the only thing keeping him on his feet. There had been pain in his eyes, pain and hope and the aching, tearing desire to _believe_. "I would swear before the gods themselves that I saw you fall, Arashi-kun."

Naruto had taken another step then, and another, and another, until he was close enough to curl a hand—strong, young, _too_ young for the ache in his chest, the grief in his heart—around a shoulder unbent by age.

"Not forever," he'd murmured back, meeting the man's eyes. "Didn't you always say it? Uzushio will never fall, not when even one soul remains to hold her."

And Tomi had smiled, like a stalwart stone untouched by time. He'd clapped Naruto on the shoulder in return and answered, "We did, and a soul like yours is a fierce thing indeed, Uzukage-sama."

(No cheer from the ship behind them, no surge of voices, but…a whisper. A brief and mighty stirring just below the surface, like the retreat of waters before a tsunami.

_Home_, the people had murmured to one another. _Uzushio. Uzukage. Home._)

So there are people, old and new, and when Naruto walks among them they whisper _Arashi-sama_ and _Yondaime_ and smile at him with their hearts in their eyes. And it's…good, because Uzushio is reforming around him, rising from the rubble with the help of many hands, and it eases the ache in his chest that's existed for as long as he can remember.

But he's not _just_ Arashi. He's had another life to shape him as well, and he only has to look at Gaara—resolute, steadfast, his right hand as Haku is his left—to remember that. Only has to channel chakra and see the spiral seal, so simple but so complex, flare to life to remember just what it is that sets him apart now. Not his standing as the village's genius orphan, the next greatest Uzumaki, not the unwavering support of an entire city, but the Kyuubi.

A demon.

_Demon brat_, they whispered sometimes, in Konoha. No one was ever outright abusive, never laid a hand on him, but somehow that was…worse. Worse because the whispers never stopped, and a blow might have.

Naruto understands what he is. He remembers Mito and the handful of others, nine sacrifices for nine bijuu, and their strength both of chakra and of heart. And he looks at himself, at Gaara, and wonders just what it was that went wrong. Gaara's seal is unstable, the Ichibi riding too close to the surface, and Naruto's cost Konoha's Yondaime his life, but those are things well beyond their control. To be hated for that—it's like being hated for the color of his hair, or his skin.

_Seven more_, he thinks, stepping outside Uzushio's gates at dawn. Gaara is one step behind, grim and vivid in the rising light, wearing full shinobi gear even though lately he's dressed down to help with the reconstruction. Haku is just inside the gates, looking unhappy, but Naruto won't let him be present for this. Not with the amount of things that could go wrong. Not with the amount of power they'll likely be throwing around.

_There are seven more of us, and I have no doubt our situations are at least similar. _

Naruto has his faults, but cowardice has never, ever been one of them. And now, with so much riding on him, with so many people depending on him, how can he shrink back from something like this? It could hurt them, but it could also help them, because Naruto has no doubt that Kiri is still a threat, or that some other country will see Uzushio as easy pickings.

They're still a small village, still vulnerable. But Naruto will not let Uzushio fall again.

The northeast coast of Whirlpool Country is a barren, rocky place, uninhabited by all but the most stubborn fishermen and a few scattered souls. It's here that Naruto leads Gaara, picking his way around weather-worn boulders and storm-tossed driftwood until they're at the very edge of the land where it falls off into the ocean. The wind is still night-cool off the water, and a few scattered clouds cling to the brightening horizon, but from the cliff to the edge of the forest behind them, there's no other life.

Naruto takes a slow, deep breath, and leaps up to sit cross-legged on the top of the nearest boulder. "You're ready?" he asks Gaara, who touches the side of his gourd and nods once. Naruto offers him a smile, as bright and brave as he can make it, and closes his eyes, letting the outside world fall away.

It's a tunnel like the one leading to Uzushio's heart that greets him, wide and dark, but a soft sort of darkness, with seals that flicker and flare on the walls. He spares a moment to look them over—minor genjutsus, mostly, anchored in place with fuinjutsu to make them long-lasting and more powerful, all directed at serenity of mind and peace of heart. Mood modifiers, Saehara-sensei used to call them. Influences more than attacks. And there are many of them, all subtly different but following a definite theme.

Still, it's a good sign, this place's appearance. Naruto smiles, brushes his fingers over the nearest seal, and heads down the hall, towards the wide double doors at the end. This place looks like the Uzushio's heart—a secret, but a good one. Something to protect. Something to save his village.

He pushes the doors open and steps into the cool white light of the circular room, and laughs softly, because he's not the twelve-year-old he should be right now. His hands are his _own_, the ones he remembers from his last lifetime, right down to the scar on his palm that Fuyu gave him in training, which never quite faded. His hair is a familiar weight over his shoulders, bright blond bleached pale by the sun, and his hitai-ate is around his head. Naruto knows without looking what the symbol will be—the _right_ one, and he loves Konoha too, but it's not _his_ the way Uzushio is.

There's a sound in the darkness, and when he looks up from his study of his hands there are sharp eyes on him, a huge form curled within the shadows. Naruto can only just make out the whisper of nine tails across the stone as the Kyuubi pulls himself to his feet.

"You're not that brat," the Kyuubi growls, eyes narrowing. "Who are you?"

"But I am," Naruto corrects, and his heart is beating a tattoo in his throat. "I'm _more_ me than I have been in twelve years. And you're the Kyuubi. Mito-sama never spoke of you much."

That gets him a harsh, growling laugh, and the Kyuubi steps forward, out of the shadows. Naruto holds his ground, feet planted and eyes on the bijuu, greatest of the nine.

"Of course she didn't," the fox scoffs, stalking around Naruto in a tight circle, though he never comes closer than the outermost ring of stone. "Why talk about a burden, a prisoner? Why talk about the one that she _enslaved_?"

Naruto meets the Kyuubi's eyes as squarely as he can, given the differences in their sizes. He knows the story, as well as anyone. All of Uzushio did, because Mito was one of _theirs_. "If she hadn't, Madara would have kept controlling you," he says softly, but firmly. "He would have used you to destroy Konoha, and then he'd have probably moved on to all the other villages as well."

"You think that matters to _me_?" the fox roars, lunging forward only to come up short as the pale grey floor flares with light, holding him back. Naruto doesn't move.

"I think it should," he says evenly. "It would only have created more hatred, more fear."

The fox scoffs, resuming its circling. "You say that as if I feel anything but loathing for you puny humans," he growls. "Humanity is a disease. If I had it my way, I'd wipe you all out."

Naruto takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and lets it out slowly. "I used to hate the people of Konoha," he whispers, a confession he's never made to anyone else. "But hate is so _dark._ If I hate, and they hate, then there's never a chance for anything different. Only more and more hatred, piling up on top of itself. I don't want to hate people, and I don't want to hate _you_. You're the strongest of the bijuu, and older than I can imagine. You must be so wise, and…I'm not. I'm just human. But I want to protect those precious to me, and I think, if you help me, we can both stop the hatred here." He opens his eyes, looks up at the warily silent Kyuubi, and smiles. _Grins_, because he can imagine it, a future of peace and hope and _home_, and whether the Kyuubi helps him or not, that's what he'll always strive for.

"I'm Naruto," he says, a peace offering, a hand extended across the vast gulf that separates them. "Uzumaki Naruto. Or Arashi, if you'd rather call me that."

There's a long moment of silence before it's broken by a sharp snort. "'Storm' or 'fishcake', really? No third option?"

And Naruto laughs, bright in the soft darkness, and steps forward towards his personal demon—his hope for the future, for his people's future—with a smile.

* * *

Youko is bright and curious and clearly restraining himself, but his eyes are alight and his smile honest as they meander through the market. Sasuke isn't entirely certain why he's still here, since he got the information he came for, more or less, and Youko does indeed have an entire ANBU squad following him. But at the same time, he's all too aware. Youko is a connection to Naruto, an immediate and existing one when for years Sasuke has been chasing half-formed ghosts and halfhearted whispers.

"Ah," the blond sighs as they finally make it to a less crowded area, several steps back from the press, and lean against the wall together. "It's so different from Uzushio. I'd forgotten what it's like to be elsewhere."

Sasuke looks out over the crowd, trying to see what Youko does, but can't. "Different?" he asks after a moment, because here's yet another tie to Naruto. His new village must be…easy to love, if he hasn't come home once in almost seven years.

With a low, thoughtful hum, Youko tips his head back, bells chiming softly. "It's…beautiful," he says at length, and the curve of his smile is clear despite the mask. "Our Shodaime raised the land that Uzushio is on from the sea, and then pulled most of the stone for the buildings right from the ground. He and a handful of others made the city with chakra, pulled it together in the space of a month, and it's…easy to tell. Uzushio was built with more of an eye for beauty than most hidden villages have. Lots of columns and curving paths and different city levels overlooking the bay. It's…gorgeous." He laughs, and Sasuke can hear it in his voice, the wonder, the awe, the almost desperate edge of adoration for a collection of buildings. He can't understand it, but he can hear it as plain as day.

Youko sweeps a hand out in front of them, encompassing the market and the streets beyond, and says, "Konoha is…busy. There's so much _life_ here, and Uzushio is similar. But…different, too. Smaller, definitely, and the air feels strange here in comparison." His smile is warm, if a little helpless as he gestures, clearly at a loss for words. "Just…Konoha is painted in green and brown—earth tones. Uzushio is blue and red and gold, sea and sky and sunset."

Sasuke…doesn't understand. Can't comprehend what it is to talk about a place with such barely-hidden devotion. He likes Konoha, is fond of it, appreciates it as a place to live and grow, and of course he'll fight to the death for it, but that's more for the _people_ there. Youko talks of Uzushio as if the village itself is a person to defend and cherish.

He's thought of leaving, before. Just up and walking out the gates, dismissing everyone here and striking out on his own to find Naruto—or his brother, in his darker moments. Konoha holds no permanent attachments for him, no inescapable ties. It's Sasuke's village, his home, and there's a certain amount of pride that comes with that, but not nearly as much as Youko shows in his own village in the space of a few words.

Before he can say anything, though, a whisper of familiar chakra touches his senses, and he glances across the busy market to see his first teacher slip out of the crowd. Beside him, Youko goes very still and ever so slightly tense, but Sasuke supposes that's understandable. After all, most foreign shinobi have nightmares about Kakashi of the Sharingan coming towards them. And Youko said himself that everyone in Uzushio is a returned refugee, of the city by way of somewhere else, so it's possible Youko has even crossed blades with Kakashi before.

Kakashi makes a show of looking around before spotting them, but Sasuke isn't a stupid twelve-year-old genin anymore, and he doesn't believe it for a moment. Hatake Kakashi is a master at playing the fool, but underneath that, he's observant and canny and powerful enough to be one of Konoha's single greatest weapons. Having the man teach him everything he knows about the Sharingan—and in the process revealing that the perverted, eternally tardy man has a _Mangekyo _Sharingan—opened Sasuke's eyes to that fact very quickly.

"Yo," the Copy-Nin says cheerfully as he approaches, raising a hand in a lazy wave. "Entertaining our guest, Sasuke?"

"Hn." Sasuke folds his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes at his former jounin instructor, able to guess the reason for his presence. Kakashi has been nearly as obsessive about finding Naruto as he has, after all. There's no way he'd have missed the connection with Uzushio.

Kakashi gives him a long, speaking look, then turns one eye, crinkled in a smile that's likely entirely false, on the blond nin. "Hatake Kakashi," he says brightly. "Welcome to Konoha."

There's a split second of hesitation, just enough to be noticeable, and then the other shinobi inclines his head. "…Uzumaki Youko," he answers slowly. "You are…Sakumo's son."

Kakashi goes very, very still and very, very quiet. He says nothing, but even the fake smile drops away, to leave a wary watchfulness in his visible eye. Sasuke, for his part, is equal parts guarded and impressed. Four words to put one of Konoha's greatest off balance, four words and half a moment's contemplation. That's…a very effective battle tactic.

Youko folds his arms, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his deep green kimono top as though he hasn't a care in the world, but he's a shinobi. It's more than likely he's carrying weapons in there, and knows just what sort of dangerous ground he's stepped on.

"That's not," Kakashi says softly and at length, "the first thing most people say."

Youko's eyes crinkle ever so slightly, and he inclines his head, the bells chiming softly with the movement. "I'm older than I look," is his reply. "I met him several times, and regardless of what people say, he was a great man. Very strong. Our Sandaime was fond of him."

That eases a small portion of the tension from Kakashi's shoulders, but not much. "Uzumaki Arashi—my father mentioned him," the Copy-Nin acknowledges with a faint nod. A pause, a beat, and then he visibly uncoils, clearly forcing himself to relax, and the idiotic eye-smile comes back. "Maa. I like your mask."

Sasuke's face meets his palm, and he has to strangle a groan.

Thankfully, Youko just rolls with the incredibly unsubtle change of subject, though an amused smile is clearly curling his lips. "Thank you," he says with mock gravity. "Yours is very nice as well. I had considered bandages, but they don't have quite the right…flair."

Kakashi beams at him, tucking his hands into his pockets. "I was headed to lunch," he offers cheerfully. "Would you two care to join me?"

Sasuke's stomach chooses that moment to remind him that he had skipped dinner in favor of hitting the bar last night, and breakfast this morning in favor of escaping Ino and Sakura's clutches. It gives a loud rumble, but Sasuke refuses to be embarrassed, stalking past Kakashi's stupid snickers with his head held high. "You're paying," he threatens, leaping up to the rooftop in a quick bound.

The sound of bells follows as Youko mimics him, and Sasuke wonders how the man can ever win a fight with those things giving away each of his movements. Perhaps he's simply fast enough that it doesn't matter, but it still seems like a foolish risk.

There's always someone faster, after all.

"Ramen?" Kakashi suggests, joining them on the tiles and heading off without waiting for an answer. Sasuke rolls his eyes, knowing it wasn't a suggestion at all, but rather a conscious decision to pick the cheapest place possible, and follows. After a moment Youko falls into step with him, thoughtfully silent with his eyes fixed on Kakashi's back, and Sasuke is curious as to the history there. There's surely something, with Kakashi's reaction being what it was, but he's never heard anyone mention Kakashi's father directly. Hatake isn't exactly a common family name, and the only other use Sasuke can think of is Hatake Sakumo, Konoha's White Fang, but Sasuke only has the most basic knowledge of him and nothing in regards to his family.

Of course, until yesterday Sasuke had never even heard of a Hidden Village in Whirlpool Country, so he supposes that it's possible he's lacking in some areas of his education.

But he won't pry. Kakashi is…complicated.

(He remembers, a month and a half after Naruto's disappearance, that he played a prank. It was an impulse, a mad idea, but the woman who was his target had always been especially rude to Naruto when they pulled weeds for her; bringing Sakura and Sasuke cookies and lemonade and conveniently forgetting the blond, ignoring him and sneering when she thought Kakashi wasn't watching. It had always made something tight and hard form in Sasuke's gut, something like indignation or anger, or maybe simply disgust. So when she had passed him in the street and _smiled _at him, smiled when there was absolutely nothing in the world to be happy about because _Naruto _was _gone,_ he'd pranked her. He'd pranked her and run, heart in his throat as he fled, half-expecting to look back and find an ANBU on his tail with every step he took.

He'd ended up a tree at the edge of the village, huddled deep in the branches and shaking like he never had from a mission. Shaking and at the same time fighting laughter, because _what the hell was he doing_? He, Uchiha Sasuke, youngest son of the Uchiha Clan Head and self-proclaimed avenger, had _played a prank_.

And he'd _liked it_.

It had been _satisfying._

Something had moved above him, but he hadn't reacted beyond raising his head from his arms. Kakashi hadn't looked at him, hadn't moved his eyes from his book at all, but he'd said, "Do you remember when I said my best friend's name was on the memorial?"

Certain this was going to be a lecture, or another try at sympathy, Sasuke had turned away without answering.

Kakashi had simply hummed in response. When he spoke again, his voice was warm and fond and all the things Sasuke was entirely unused to hearing from him. "His name was Uchiha Obito, and he was…ridiculous. Always late, always giving the most ridiculous excuses as though we couldn't see right through them. Always cheerful no matter what the situation was."

That had made Sasuke look at him, heart in his throat again, and he'd tried to swallow it down enough to speak. Had failed, but…that was fine. More than fine, because he couldn't find the words regardless.

"Uchiha?" he had asked at last, and… Kakashi having one Sharingan had made an awful, tragic kind of sense then.

Kakashi had nodded. Hadn't looked at him, but answered with a clear smile, even through the mask, "Yes. Obito."

And maybe it wasn't good. Maybe it wasn't even _better_. But it was…enough, if only for the moment. A memory and a reminder and just…

Enough.)


	12. 1st Movement: Lost Son Dissonance

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Slight language, mention of adultery, mentions of Danzo as his asshole self, etc.

**Word Count: **~3900

**Pairings: **Sasuke/Naruto

**Cowriter/idea guru: **EmeraldBenu (\o/)

**Disclaimer: **I don't hold the copyrights, I didn't create them, and I make no profit from this.

**Notes: **This next week is going to be the week from _hell_ for me, so I'm exercising my fairly rusty self-preservation skills and declaring a brief pause in updates.

In other words, **NO UPDATE NEXT TUESDAY. UPDATES WILL RESUME AS USUAL ON 22/9**. I'm really very sorry about this, but unfortunately my department head won't take 'But I was writing fanfiction!' as an excuse for not finishing my paperwork. Some people… :(

* * *

_**Stormborn**_

_Chapter Twelve, First Movement: Lost Son Dissonance_

_[Dissonance: Harsh, discordant, characterized by a lack of harmony. Also a chord that sounds incomplete until it resolves itself on a harmonious chord.]_

Kakashi hasn't changed much, at least that Naruto can see. He's still laid-back and lazily attentive, his visible eye sharp behind his heavy-lidded look of aloofness. Sakumo was never like that, at least the handful of times Naruto met him as Arashi. The elder Hatake was driven and fierce and focused, and moreover he never tried to hide it. His son does, though—he hides and buries and conceals, until Naruto has to wonder if even Kakashi himself knows what's a mask and what isn't.

He…regrets it, that he had to bring Sakumo into things, because he's read the records, learned what happened and how it clearly effected Kakashi. But out of all the people in Konoha, Kakashi has the greatest likelihood of divining just who Youko is—just who _Arashi_ is, even. For all of Kakashi's playing at being a good-for-nothing pervert (and again, how much of that is a mask is debatable; Naruto wants to say all of it, but…), he's honestly a little terrifying. Sakumo has nothing on his son, when Kakashi actually gets serious. And he's suspicious of everyone, of every little misstep or even the steps taken correctly. Always expecting betrayal or foul play from anyone he doesn't call a friend. Naruto can't take that risk, not now. Not here.

Not with Sasuke—

Naruto cuts off that thought, glances at his friend—and truly, his _friend_, and he can be sure of that now. _He vanished seven years ago, and I've been looking for him ever since_. Sasuke has been looking for him, trying to find him, to the point where he would risk offending an envoy from a foreign power to get his answers—because Naruto saw that moment of violence barely restrained, when he first refused to answer. Just a half-second of tension, a spark of fury, but—

But it was _there_. But Sasuke _cares_, and it makes something in Naruto's chest flip and whirl in light, breathless loops.

When he had left, he'd thought they wouldn't miss him. Not that he was so caught up in remorse or self-pity that he thought they wouldn't _notice_, but he'd…expected it to be less in their eyes than other things, like rebuilding or appointing their new Kage or, well, most things. Iruka was precious but always busy; the Sandaime was dead; Kakashi was amiable, but distant; Sakura had never really seemed to care, as much as he wished otherwise; and Sasuke…

Well. Sasuke was Sasuke, and all the twilight meetings and missions and monsters faced down together weren't enough to put a dent in his armor.

But, apparently, Naruto _leaving_ was.

(And it just figures, doesn't it? To get closer to his teammate all he had to do was remove himself to the far side of the continent with no intention of returning.)

It takes…effort not to call out a greeting to Teuchi when they duck into the stand, effort not to grin at Ayame standing behind the counter with a smile. But the mere thought of what Haku would likely do to him if he let his disguise slip so easily has him holding back a faint wince, and keeping his smile to a normal level as he nods to the father and daughter.

"Afternoon," Teuchi greets cheerfully. "What will you have?"

Ichiraku is so automatic that it's dangerous. Naruto closes his lips on the order of pork ramen that wants to come out, not because he thinks it will tell them exactly who he is—it's not like Naruto was the only one to ever order pork—but because little clues often lead up to big revelations, and he can't afford to give anything away, not at this stage in the game.

"Miso, please," Kakashi orders brightly, though Naruto can still feel his occasional glance like sandpaper against his composure.

"The usual," Sasuke puts in with a nod, and glances over at Naruto. Naruto bites back the nervous flutter in his stomach, fights it down until he doesn't have to think about Sasuke's sharp-dark eyes on him anymore, and makes a show of looking over the menu.

"Shōyu ramen for me, thanks." He smiles at Teuchi from beneath his mask, and can't help but regret the subterfuge that he and Haku have immersed themselves in. what would it be like, to come back as himself? What would Sasuke have said, done, if it had been Naruto at the gate instead of Youko? Tsunade, Kakashi, Ino, Neji—any and all of them, what would they have said? Because the Naruto returning isn't the same Naruto that left. Remembering his time as Arashi fully, Uzushio and being a Kage, his understanding with Kurama, his new friends, his people—they've all changed him, and he likes to think it's for the better.

The feeling of eyes—or an eye, as it were—on him draws him out of his thoughts, and he blinks at the sight of Kakashi staring at him. "Yes?" he asks politely, inwardly rolling his own eyes. Kakashi is very good at playing not-subtle, for all that he's actually an underhanded bastard.

Kakashi smiles at him, bright and cheerful and probably without an ounce of honesty behind it, and says, "If you knew my father, you must have known the Sannin as well. And the Yondaime."

Naruto met Sarutobi's students, twice when they were genin and then at various other times when they were older, and he laughs a little to himself, remembering the first time. Three wide-eyed children, Orochimaru solemn and Tsunade enthusiastic and Jiraiya boisterous, standing in their teacher's shadow as the two Kages conversed. Naruto had never quite had time for a genin team of his own, back when he was Arashi, and that's another regret to be laid at the feet of the time's unfaltering tension. Too much war, too many battles and petty quarrels and not enough peace, _never _enough peace. But maybe now, with Uzushio returned and finally a power to rival any two of the Great Nations—or more—perhaps now peace can have a chance.

"I met the Sannin," he allows, looking back up to meet Kakashi's gaze. "Not Namikaze, though. He was a child when Uzushio fell the first time—probably still an Academy student, if I'm remembering his age correctly, and after that there was simply never a chance before he died."

Entirely true, with the added bonus of being entirely misleading. Naruto never did get the chance to meet his father, not until he and Kurama called up enough power between them to activate the failsafe in the seal. But that's bittersweet, and not something Naruto likes to dwell on, so he pushes that aside as well and gives Kakashi a smile. "Ah, that reminds me. Do you have a memorial for those killed in action? There are a few old friends I need to say hello to."

Kakashi studies him for a long moment, and there's a weight to that gaze, something heavy and cool and hard, like steel. He says nothing, though, and it's Sasuke who nods.

"I can show you after we eat," the brunet offers, casting a sharp glance at their former teacher before he turns his attention back to the bowl being set in front of him. With a grunt of thanks, he picks up his chopsticks and digs in.

"Here you are," Ayame says brightly, placing another bowl in front of Naruto with a smile. "Enjoy."

"Thank you," Naruto murmurs back, but with the thought of the memorial heavy on his chest, it's hard to work up his usual enthusiasm. Maybe that's a good thing, though, seeing as Kakashi is _still_ watching him. Sideways and on the sly, maybe, but Naruto has been a ninja for almost twice as long as the Copy-Nin, all told, and it's nowhere near as sneaky as he seems to think it is. Naruto casts him a look, brow arching slightly, and turns back to his meal. Eating through the mask is tricky, but not impossible, and he's already fairly distracted by what he needs to do.

He has a promise to Kagami to fulfill, after all.

* * *

("They're marrying me off," Kagami says flatly, leaning against the waist-high wall that runs around the top of the watch tower.

Seated beside him, legs dangling over the drop and eyes fixed on the ocean before them, Naruto lets out a soft breath of unsurprised resignation. "Can you honestly say you weren't expecting it?" he asks gently, but he doesn't look away from where the sky disappears into the sea. "Given your bloodline—"

Kagami scoffs, mouth pulled into a tight, unhappy line. He's not normally one for brooding, bright and happy and enthusiastic to a fault, but when he does it's easier than ever to see the family resemblance that's usually so well-hidden.

"My bloodline," he huffs, jerking away from the wall to stalk across the roof. It's too small for much, just a few strides across in each direction, but he makes use of it to pace as best he can, throwing his hands up for good measure. Naruto doesn't look—he's seen this show before, whenever Kagami's father was being especially unbearable. "My bloodline? You mean what those old, wrinkled bastards can't understand, will _never_ understand! It's not like there's more than an infinitesimal chance of me passing it on, even if I do what they want and 'reproduce for the good of the clan'." He makes a sound of disgust and throws himself back against the wall, sliding down to sit on the roof with his arms crossed, looking for all the world like a pouting child.

Naruto wants to be sympathetic and outraged on behalf of his friend, but he's also a Kage, and he knows very well how politics tend to play out. And the Uchiha Clan is nothing if not a breeding ground for political plays and power-grabs. They're not so much a family as a self-contained soap opera, honestly. And even if he tried to help, he's the head of a foreign power, no matter how friendly with Konoha. For all his ability to broker trade agreements and peace treaties, he's powerless in the face of his best friend's personal life. It _grates_, but he and Kagami have walked this path before, attempting to get the Uchiha out from under his father's thumb, and Naruto knows _exactly_ how it plays out.

With a heavy groan, Kagami drags his palms over his face and then blows out a breath, scuffing his fingers through his straight, chin-length hair. He's stockier than the average Uchiha, more given to a gymnast's muscles than a dancer's build, and shorter than normal, though he's still a good three inches taller than Naruto. Another thing to set him apart, beyond his heritage, which is unique even among the other variations of the Sharingan.

"I don't even _know_ her," he complains, and Naruto smiles sadly. Kagami is a romantic at heart, no matter how many times his father tried to make him otherwise, or to get him to face 'a shinobi's reality'. He's a fan of forbidden romances and love at first sight, fated loves and despite-the-odds and happy endings.

"And she's not Azami," he finishes, because it needs to be said, even if Kagami isn't willing to do it.

Kagami closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the sun-warmed stone with a sigh. "No," he agrees. "She's not Azami."

"Kagami," Naruto starts, but his friend cuts him off with a shake if his head.

"Stop it, Arashi," he huffs. "I _know_. Whatever you're about to say, I've probably said it to myself at least twenty times, okay? I _know_ our families are enemies. I _know_ we don't have a chance. But she's…"

"Not an Uchiha," Naruto murmurs, keeping his tone light. He's divorced from the whole situation, living in Uzushio as he does, and only knows what he hears from Kagami between the diplomat's trips back to Konoha. But Kagami's only ever had good things to say about Azami, even before they got stuck together on an S-rank mission and he came back with hearts in his eyes and a mantra of _I'm in love_ with which to drive Naruto to distraction.

It sounds like something off a stage, feuding families with their children in love, but the reality of it isn't quite so theatrical. There's a lot of pining, honestly, and carefully measured conversations in public places, longing glances and stern talking-tos from the clan elders. Naruto sympathizes, he honestly does, but unless Kagami and Azami elope and seek sanctuary in Uzushio, there's not much he can do. And even then, he can't afford to start a war, to involve his people in a clash between two former allies over his childhood friend. Being Uzukage means he can't take risks. Not with his people's lives.

"Yeah," Kagami agrees with a sigh, then shakes his head and looks away, out over the red roofs that march in grand array up the feet of the surrounding hills. "I just…Hisae is gentle, from what I've heard. Kind. A jounin, and she has the Sharingan. But…I want someone who can _match_ me, Arashi, not a meek and gentle wife. Did you know that Azami can't cook? Last time she tried to make me dinner she set my apartment on fire. I didn't think that kind of thing happened outside of cheesy shoujo manga. And she yells at me, and smacks me in the head when I'm being stupid, and I just—" He spreads his hands helplessly. "She's the only thing I've ever really wanted for myself, Arashi. How can anyone compete with that? How can I give that up?"

Naruto doesn't have an answer, but he curls a hand around Kagami's shoulder and grips it tightly, a poor attempt at comfort.

Kagami lets out a long, slow breath and reaches up to lay his hand over Naruto's, fingers closing desperately over the Uzukage's.

"I won't," he whispers, loud in the stillness between them. "I _won't_ give it up."

And Naruto closes his eyes and turns his face away, out towards the calm azure sea, to where he can feel clouds gathering just over the horizon.

He can't imagine this will end in anything but tragedy.)

* * *

Kagami's name is right where Naruto remembers it, slightly faded by time and weather but still readable. He crouches in front of the stone, reaching out to trace his fingers over the carved lines. There's another Uchiha Kagami here, written as 'mirror', but his Kagami's name uses different kanji and is easy to tell apart.

Sasuke is three paces behind him, silent and still, and Naruto wonders if he's speaking to his own fallen friends and family, if anyone on this stone is familiar to him. There are too many names that Naruto knows, far too many for his comfort, and Sarutobi Hiruzen is just the latest in a string of them.

Senju Azami's name is several above Kagami's, stark and bold. 'Thistle flower,' it means, and from what Kagami told him it suited her personality. He remembers Kagami's grief, when she died, remembers the hunted, haunted look on his face for months afterwards—right up until he left Uzushio and never returned.

There was a child, Naruto knows. A son. Kagami named him godfather and inundated him with pictures until the mere threat of photos made Uzushio's fearless Storm God cringe. Azami's son, not Hisae's, and Naruto has to wonder what kind of life the child lived, growing up the child of two families traditionally at odds with one another. Because Azami had died barely a month after the birth, called away on a diplomatic mission that needed to be handled by one of the last living members of her clan, only to have it go south halfway through. And Kagami, with his own duty to fulfil, had only been able to see the boy a handful of times.

Naruto recognizes the boy's name, carved into the damned memorial. Another loss for Kagami's family, another point of tragedy in Naruto's own life. Not that he really expected differently, given the circumstances surrounding the Uchiha Clan. And especially not given the boy's own circumstances.

A child born outside of an arranged marriage, to a mother considered an enemy of the clan, but left with the betrayed wife to be raised like a full-blooded Uchiha—Naruto can't imagine what the boy suffered. He loved Kagami, loves him still, but some of his choices left much to be desired.

Not that it matters much anymore, Naruto supposes. Uchiha Itachi took care of that. Even if the boy had survived childhood, become an upstanding member of his clan—and perhaps it happened, perhaps Hisae truly was kind enough to raise a child not her own until her death—he more than likely was killed in the massacre. Only Sasuke himself escaped the slaughter that night, after all.

"An Uchiha?" Sasuke asks, as if spurred by the thought.

Naruto nods slowly, rising to his feet and settling the lilies he brought before the stone. "The very best Uchiha," he says, allowing himself a faint smile. Kagami made poor decisions, yes, but Naruto knows as well as anyone that the Uchiha are quite literally mad for love. All the emotional suppression in the world—which Kagami, of course, never believed in—can only take them so far from their curse, given how tightly it's tied up with their bloodline. And Kagami was always cheerful, always willing to help in any way he was needed. Headstrong and brave and oddly insightful, a good friend and a terrible foe. As Arashi, Naruto met his fair share of Uchiha, but he'll always think of Kagami as the very best of them, even factoring in geniuses like Itachi and the first Kagami, the Nidaime Hokage's aide.

He steps back with a soft sigh, remembering Kagami's grin, his wisdom, his steadfast friendship through years and battles and natural disasters, deaths and births and the threat of war. And somehow, somehow, Suna forces managed to get so very far behind Konoha's lines, managed to lie in wait for a single messenger, moving fast and secretively, and killed him despite his bloodline, despite the power and uniqueness of his Sharingan. Despite the fact that in a fight _no one_ ever touched Kagami.

Somehow, Kagami was killed when he shouldn't have even been in danger, killed by a squad of shinobi almost an entire country away from where they should have been, and Naruto doesn't think it paranoia to lay this at Danzo's door as well. Because Uzushio had held out for the required fifteen days and then more besides, Arashi sure that Kagami had simply been held up by politics, and it was only afterwards, twenty-five days into a siege Uzushio wasn't prepared for, that he had realized something must have happened. That Kagami had failed and Konoha wasn't coming, that Uzushio was on its own against the might of a village twice its size and well-equipped to fight a war. Well-equipped to fight a war against Uzushio in particular, with knowledge of the city's forces that no one but an Uzushio shinobi should have had, and a high-ranking shinobi at that.

Or a well-placed one, as Reisi was, being the beloved nephew of the Uzukage's trusted assistant.

_Why?_ Naruto asks silently, staring at the memorial, not sure if he's directing the question at Danzo or the gods themselves. _Why would you do it? We were no threat to Konoha. We never had been. We shared _everything_, secrets and seals and techniques. Why would you destroy us when we only ever offered friendship? How many people died, just because of one paranoid, war-mongering bastard? How many of _my_ people? And why did no one ever _notice_ that there was something more to all of this? Not even Saru—_

But then, Hiruzen had always been far too trusting of his own people, and of Danzo in particular.

But he won't get away with it. Not a minute longer.

Naruto reaches out, brushes his fingers over Kagami's name once more, over his godson's name, and then turns away. He smiles at Sasuke, bright and cheerful even though it feels like his heart is breaking, like the steel of his determination is the only thing carrying him forward.

Sasuke looks back at him, tall and proud and nothing like Kagami, but at the same time holding an equal vein of bullheaded, devoted strength within himself. His dark eyes aren't quite sympathetic, because they're hardly friends—at least, Sasuke and Youko aren't—but there's an understanding in them, a kind of reluctant kinship only grudgingly admitted to. Loss and loneliness and families found at long last, and Naruto lets his fingers rest just briefly on Sasuke's shoulder as he steps past.

"Thanks," he murmurs, and turns away, back towards the inn and Haku. Back to what he came here for.

Back to his plotting, and back to their plans to bring Danzo down.

High up, silhouetted against the clear blue of the summer sky, a white gyrfalcon gives a keening cry and folds its wings, plummeting towards its master. The message canister bound to its leg flashes in the sun as it descends, and Naruto turns to look, one hand raised to shield his eyes.

No clouds in that sky, not yet, but he wonders why he feels they should be gathering all the same.


	13. 2nd Movement: Stormwinds Rising, Reprise

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Excessive introspection, aneki!Haku, yet more mentions of Danzo as his asshole self, etc.

**Word Count: **~4000

**Pairings: **Sasuke/Naruto

**Cowriter/idea guru: **EmeraldBenu (\o/)

**Disclaimer: **I don't hold the copyrights, I didn't create them, and I make no profit from this.

**Notes: **Hi! Yes, this is technically this coming Tuesday's update, but my week from hell is stretching and I want to make sure this actually gets posted. Next update will be the following Tuesday, like normal. Again, many, many apologies for missing last week. You guys are very patient with me, and you totally rock. :)

* * *

_**Stormborn**_

_Chapter Thirteen, Second Movement: Storm-Winds Rising, Reprise_

_[Reprise: To repeat a previous part of a composition, generally after other music has been played.]_

Naruto is angry.

But no, because anger is a simmer, a flame from a campfire, a touch of heat beneath the skin, and this is _nothing _like that. Because Naruto is _furious_, _raging_, and it's an eruption, a spark that leaps into the trees and sets an entire forest alight, a sun-searing burn at his core that's eating him from the inside out. He's breathless with it, speechless, shattered and haphazardly stitched back together with the fury seeping out between the seams.

Haku is too quiet, his dark eyes on Naruto as the blond paces their rooms. Curled on the bed with his legs drawn up under him, and he looks like a child, like something delicate, a sculpture carved of the most fragile ice and left to the mercy of the sun. Like something with edges so sharp they can't be seen, poised to cut even if they don't know _what_ to cut yet. Even if there's no enemy here, leagues and days from their home.

Their home which is _threatened_.

Their home which _needs them_, needs them there and needs them here and needs them in both places at once, striking down the danger.

Kiri again, and when Naruto closes his eyes all he can see is a red sun rising, the gates falling, the walls crumbling before the invading forces. There's a knife at his jugular, blood a cherry-red, warm-hot spill against his skin, and the corpses of his people, his _village_, all around him. Yui with blood from a head wound turning her face into a mask of crimson fury. Shunka with her teeth bared and murder in her eyes, short swords in hand and gore painting her clothes. Haru standing guard over the fallen body of his father, regardless of the kunai stabbed deep into his skin. Fuyu pacing Naruto in a rush to the wall, only to die taking a jutsu meant for him.

It was a war, a brutal, bloody war that was absolutely _pointless_, because Uzushio made sure that even though Kiri claimed victory that day, they paid dearly for it, paid with blood and bodies and corpses on the sand. Uzushio was destroyed and Kiri lost the majority of their army, and an entire country was scattered for decades, unable to find a home.

Naruto won't let it happen again. Uzushio has five jinchuuriki to call upon this time, plenty of skilled jounin and chuunin and a city that will not let her people be driven from her once more, not for anything. They have allies besides Konoha, deals with one of the Sannin and the friendship of the Raikage's brother and one of Kumo's greatest kunoichi. They have Naruto, who is Arashi, who is _Naruto_, who will never, _ever_ let the past repeat itself. Who came back from the dead to do what he failed to last time, and save his people.

He doesn't want a war, doesn't want to risk it, but by the gods, if Kiri starts one Naruto will see that Uzushio _finishes_ it. For _good_.

A breath, another, slow and steady and controlled, and he's finally dragging himself back from the edge, channeling the Kage that he's been twice over, shoving everything not absolutely essential down deep where it can't touch him. Slow breaths, careful, measured in every motion until his throat finally unclenches enough for him to speak. His anger has always been an eruption, a geyser, shooting up red-hot and then fading quickly, and Naruto is thankful for it. He opens his eyes, staring at the bland white wall in front of him, licks his lips and then says deliberately, "You have to go back, Haku."

Haku rises from the bed like a viper uncoiling, eyes narrowed and expression foreboding. "Naruto," he begins warningly.

"No," Naruto cuts him off, sharp and firm and trying not to show the tremor deep within himself, the vein of uncertainty in his resolve. He's never been good at picking between options, instead always attempting to power through on the idea that nothing's impossible, that he really can do everything. But even with Shadow Clones he can't be everywhere at once, not at distances like the one between Uzushio and Konoha. "No, Haku, I have to see this through. Danzo _needs_ to pay for what he's done before he's given any more opportunities to fuck everything up. It's bad enough he knows Uzushio is back, but we're going to have two more jinchuuriki here soon enough, along with half of our genin teams, and I don't want them to have to spend every damn minute on the lookout for someone who might slit their throats. In a fight against Root, I'm the better choice, and for dealing with Kiri, it's you. We don't know that they're looking for trouble, and as a bloodline child who escaped the purges you'll at least get a bit of sympathy with Terumi's supporters. And after traveling with Zabuza, you know more about the situation than anyone except Suigetsu, who's absolutely lousy at politics."

"You're asking me to abandon my Uzukage," Haku says mildly, but Naruto isn't fooled. A mild Haku is the most dangerous kind. "You are asking me to leave my Uzukage in the middle of a hostile situation with no allies and no backup, facing down a mad, genius chess-master who orchestrated your death the last time around. I love you, Naruto, and I would die for you. You are my purpose in living and the source of all my happiness, but please, don't ask this of me."

Naruto huffs out a groan, raking a hand through his hair only for his fingers to catch in the thin braids and yank. He winces, but says softly, "Haku, there's no other choice. You're my left hand. If anyone can deal with this, and do it well enough to keep us from another pointless war, it's you. Please." He studies Haku's mulish face, the stubborn line of his mouth coupled with the wavering will in his eyes, and softens his voice. "Haku. Please. I won't make it an order, but…please."

There's a long, long minute as Haku visibly wars with himself. Then, with a heavy sigh, he raises his hands in defeat. "Gaara is going to kill me," he says with resignation. "He is going to brutally murder me, and then when he marches off to raze Kirigakure to the ground he will use my mangled body as his victory banner."

"You," Naruto informs his friend dryly, "are being a tiny bit overdramatic."

"I don't think so," Haku disagrees sweetly, and a sweet Haku is even more dangerous than a mild one. "However, I will inform the others of your current status so that we will know where to look when Danzo dumps your body somewhere out of the way."

"Haku—" One sharp-edged look, and Naruto snaps his mouth shut and shuffles out of the line of fire, letting the brunet pack in peace.

"I _knew _I should have just become a fisherman," he bemoans, though he keeps his voice down. "I'd _definitely_ get more respect that way."

There's a sigh, a huff, and Haku settles in beside him on the bed, bumping their shoulders together. "Never," he promises, but he's smiling. "You'd be an awful fisherman, Naruto."

Naruto gives in and grins back at him, swift and bright, and tips to the side to lightly knock their heads together. "Probably," he agrees mirthfully. "You're not the first person to say that, you know."

Haku kisses his forehead, caught—as ever—somewhere between mother, brother, and big sister, and murmurs, "You'll be careful?"

"Of course," Naruto answers, and they both pretend that it's not the blatant lie it really is.

* * *

He sees Haku off at the gate, watched closely by their ever-present guard, and endures another round of whispered warnings to be on his best behavior and as careful as humanly possible before Haku takes his leave, moving so fast he's little more than a blur. And then Naruto is on his own again, left in Konoha with all of his memories and the people he abandoned once, falling the call of his past. Left with Sasuke who's searched for him, Kakashi who cares, Iruka who was the last to see him, and Tsunade who mourns him. Left with Danzo who was indirectly responsible for his death.

He feels a little lost, a touch adrift, because over the last half a decade he's forgotten how it is to be alone, even though he spent his entire childhood learning. But there's a mission, something to focus on, and Naruto turns his attention to that. He ignores the ANBU in the shadows, turning his senses to picking out the Root members in the crowd, identifying each by the seal that keeps them silent as he wanders through Konoha's streets.

There, coming out of the Yamanaka flower shop.

There, by the weapons shop.

Another and another and another, and Naruto has little doubt as to how Danzo gets 'recruits'. Orphans, probably, children who won't be missed. He remembers Reisi, the desperation in his eyes, and is glad that the mask means he doesn't have to work to keep a smile.

_Protector,_ Uzushio whispers in his ear, a breath of sea-wind in the humid bustle of Konoha's streets. _You will find him, my child._

Naruto steps to the side, out of the path of the street traffic, and leans back against the wall, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. Uzushio doesn't talk to him often—she's too big, too vast, and there's very little about her that's 'human', so she has a hard time understanding her people regardless of how she loves them. But when she speaks, he listens. He answers, because she is everything, she is _his_ in the same way he is hers, in the same way that every living soul in the city and the city itself is his to care for. She is every person within the walls and every soul that has ever lived within their borders, and Naruto is all but overwhelmed with adoration for her every time he takes a breath.

_I will. You know I will, _he promises silently, the same way he once promised to come back to her, when she called. And he always keeps his promises, doesn't he? He's still trying to keep the one he made to Mito, but—

Soon. Soon, he'll be able to fulfil that. Two weeks, maybe, or three, but very soon.

Uzumaki Anzu and her husband Ken had brought him a handful of age-worn papers, their first hour in the city. They had been traveling merchants in Earth Country once, before Uzushio's call reached them, and both of them were hard and weathered, but far from unkind. Nevertheless Anzu's hands had shaken slightly, when she had put the papers down before him on the desk, and surely it must have made a ridiculous picture to anyone outside, two experienced and deadly shinobi-trained travelers bowing before a boy of just thirteen.

"Uzumaki Yui was my third cousin," Anzu had said evenly. "She never made it out of Uzushio before it fell, but my family found her nephew wandering on the coast of Wave when they went looking for survivors. He had—" She had faltered, and Naruto had wanted to look away, but fought the urge. Anzu had shaken her head, sharp and angry, and finished, "He had cut out his own tongue." She'd met Naruto's eyes, grim and pale but steady, and gestured to the papers. "There was a seal on it. My mother was never good with creating seals, but she was a fair hand at copying them, even from such a small original. Reisi never told them what happened, but they managed to draw their own conclusions, and kept those documents just in case. I thought it best to pass them on."

Kabuto had recognized that seal, walking into Naruto's office one day as he studied it. Orochimaru had known it, too, when Naruto had managed to gather his courage and tamp down his anger enough to approach the Sannin. _Danzo_, they both had said, unhesitating, unwavering, even without knowing any of the context. _Traitor_, they'd said, together and apart, and Naruto had never thought of it before that, had never considered what could drive an incredibly powerful jounin and a very skilled spy away from the village that raised them, but—

There's little—very, very little—that Naruto hates more than manipulation. To twist someone's mind and turn them against friends, to poke and prod and nudge until something in the psyche is irrevocably shattered—that's horrid, dishonorable, and he _loathes_ it. Orochimaru is an ally now, Kabuto a true and trusted friend, and while Naruto has…reservations about some of Orochimaru's actions in the past, he knows without conceit that Uzushio is a valuable ally, and the Snake Sage respects that enough—respects what Uzushio and its seals and strength can do for him enough—that he's willing to at least make a few concessions in the name of morality and keeping the Uzukage placated. And for the friendship with Oto, for Suigetsu and Kimimaro and Kidomaru and the way that Kabuto very clearly loves Orochimaru as one of the few constants in his life—for that, Naruto is willing to extend a hand, both as Uzukage and as himself.

For Kabuto and Orochimaru, too, Naruto is willing to take Danzo down.

A body settles against the wall beside him, shinobi-silent and smelling just faintly of paper, fresh grass, and honing oil. And before Naruto can do anything, say anything, a quiet voice murmurs, "You know, I've turned that last conversation over in my mind so many times I can recite it in my sleep. You…you were going to say 'I want them to acknowledge me. I want that even more than I want to become _Uzu_kage'. Not _Ho_kage."

Naruto opens his eyes slowly, every muscle loose but ready to move, not that he has any idea where to move _to_. If this is it, if his cover is blown—

He meets Iruka's steady gaze, takes a short breath, and murmurs, "I'm…sorry, Iruka-sensei." Because those eyes are ever so faintly wounded, pained even though he hides it well, and Naruto doesn't regret leaving. Uzushio _needed_ him, his _people_ needed him, and he honestly can't image what all of their lives would be like if he hadn't gone. He…regrets, but not enough to actually have _regrets_.

Something like satisfaction flickers through Iruka's eyes, satisfaction and faint unhappiness and joyful certainty, but he smiles cheerfully and says a little more loudly, "I've heard that you're interested in the history of Konoha, Youko-san. I teach at the Academy, so if you'd like to come back to my apartment, I can answer any questions you have."

Despite his years in a classroom, Iruka is still most definitely a shinobi, trained and tried. He knows misdirection as well as anyone. With a grin just hidden by his mask, Naruto dips his head and pushes off the wall, remembering at the last moment not to cross his arms behind his head and instead tucking them into his sleeves. "That would be wonderful, Umino-san," he responds politely, and it's work to keep his voice even, between nerves and anticipation and sheer _happiness_ that Iruka…missed him. He didn't exactly _doubt_, but confirmation is still…nice. Touching.

The walk is silent but for a few mostly inane bits of chatter, both of them mindful of the ANBU watchers in hiding around them. Naruto keeps his eyes on their surroundings, even as Iruka escorts him up the stairs to his apartment and lets him in with a smile, and then closes the door firmly behind them.

Silence, again, as Naruto turns to face his former teacher. Taking a breath, he glances at the windows—covered—and the walls—thick, because the building is old and sturdy—and lets the first bits of tension ease out of his shoulders. It's all right. This is Iruka, this is one of his very first precious people, and it's fine.

He reaches up, tugs the mask down to hang around his neck, and grins at the chuunin with all the warmth that's battering at the inside of his chest. "Hi, Iruka-sensei," he says cheerfully.

There's a long pause, and then Iruka laughs. He laughs and steps forward, pulling Naruto into a tight, rib-cracking hug as the bells in Naruto's hair jangle wildly with the sudden tug, and breathes out, "Oh, Naruto, I missed you _so much_." He pulls back just slightly, enough to reach up and scuff at Naruto's hair with a fond smile, and then adds, "Calling yourself Youko—didn't I tell you that you're not that demon fox?"

Naruto feels Kurama stir inside him, indignant, but waves the fox away and grins at his teacher. "He's not actually a demon," he points out. "And somebody was controlling him when he attacked Konoha. Kurama's not that bad." That gets him another pointed grumble, the emotional equivalent of an _am too_, but Naruto ignores his tenant with the ease of long practice.

Iruka hesitates, but before Naruto can even start to worry he's smiling and shaking his head, murmuring, "Of course you'd make friends with him, Naruto. What was I expecting?" He steps back, but only enough to drag Naruto over to the couch and pull him down. "Tell me," he orders. "What have you been _doing_ for the last seven years, Naruto?"

It's Naruto's turn to hesitate, and with a faint sigh, he reaches up and pulls the ornaments from his hair, just to give his hands something to play with. "First, how did you figure it out?" he asks, forcing himself to be serious. Because if Iruka guessed… Though, granted, he has context that most people wouldn't.

That gets him an offended huff from the teacher, and Iruka crosses his arms over his chest. "Even if I was never much of a front-line soldier," he says with faintly wounded dignity, "I earned my rank, Naruto. I'm a good spy. You and Haku leave, with you slipping up and mentioning Uzushio before you go, and then years later a blond and a brunet arrive talking about their newly rebuilt village of Uzushio, one of them named _Youko_ and wearing a mask that hides his face. Maybe someone else wouldn't have put it together, but I _know_ you, Naruto. You're mimicking Kakashi with that getup, aren't you? It's a great prank, but—"

"Not a prank," Naruto cuts in, voice soft but ironclad. "Iruka-sensei, do you really think I'd fool so many of my precious people for a _prank_? It's serious. This is about why Uzushio fell almost thirty years ago—about doing whatever I can to keep it from happening _again_. It's _dangerous_, Iruka-sensei, and you can't tell _anyone_. Don't even _think_ about it too heavily."

Iruka meets his eyes. Naruto feels off-kilter and tense and nervous, and some of it must show, because the teacher's gaze softens, eases a little, and he reaches out to pull Naruto into another tight hug.

"You grew up, Naruto," he murmurs, sad and triumphant and regretful and more things that Naruto can't even begin to name. He just closes his eyes and buries his face in Iruka's shoulder, breathing in the familiar smells of Konoha and classrooms and _family. _"I'm so sorry that I didn't get to see it."

One breath, another, a third, and Naruto drags his composure around himself like so much armor, pulling back to grin at Iruka as best he can. Maybe it's a little watery, but it's bright and happy and he _feels_ bright and happy, the ache in his chest gone and settled into something very like what he felt the first time he looked out over a whole Uzushio. "You'll just have to come visit, then," he offers. "Uzushio is standing again, and it's _gorgeous_, Iruka-sensei, you won't believe how gorgeous it is! I like to climb to the top of the hills over the village when the sun is setting, and it turns the ocean red and gold and the city _glows_. Gaara's the jounin commander, and Haku is my bodyguard, but Utakata and Kabuto always call him my babysitter. And—"

"Breathe, Naruto!" Iruka laughs, reaching out to tweak his nose the way no one's done in _years_. Haku and Gaara and Kabuto and Fū and all the rest—they take liberties, tease and poke and prod in their own ways, but none of them have ever quite managed to fill Iruka's spot as a slightly overbearing older brother. But that's fine, because Naruto never wanted them to, and Iruka himself it enough. Naruto grins at him, heart feeling a size too large for his chest, and Iruka smiles back, warm and fond and relieved, and scuffs a hand through long blond hair again.

"I'm glad," he says affectionately. "I'm so glad you're happy, Naruto."

Naruto remembers his words that night, has never been able to bring himself to put them out of mind regardless of how many years have passed. _You should do whatever is going to make you happy, Naruto. Because even if the villagers acknowledge you, if you're not happy, it won't be enough. And more than anything, I want you to be strong and safe and happy, no matter what path you pick in the end._

He's picked his path, set his feet firmly on it and never wavered, because he's made promises. And of the many things that have changed over the last seven years, his nindo isn't one of them. _I never go back on my word. That's my ninja way._

There are more promises now than ever before, his oaths as Uzukage, his oath to Mito, his promises to Uzushio, how he's sworn to find justice for the dead. His word given so many times over, and Naruto is going to honor each instance. Every last one, because that's what his precious people have taught him. That's his way, and no matter what else changes, that never, ever will.


	14. 2nd Movement: Sonatina for the Sleepless

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Not evil!Orochimaru, slight language, another appearance of dork!Sasuke for your viewing pleasure, plot progression (le gasp!), etc.

**Word Count: **~4000

**Pairings: **Sasuke/Naruto, faint (if you squint and look at it sideways) Jiraiya/Orochimaru. I'm…sort of sorry. Ish.

**Cowriter/idea guru: **EmeraldBenu (\o/)

**Disclaimer: **I don't hold the copyrights, I didn't create them, and I make no profit from this.

**Notes: **Because some people have mentioned not wanting to see redeemed!Orochimaru, I'll warn you now that he is my second-favorite Naruto character and will be…grey-ish here. Still self-serving, but in the vaguely-sort-of-helpful-to-the-good-guys way he is in (current) canon. There are characterization notes on how I see him up on my profile (or my LiveJournal) if you're interested.

So this is either two days late or five days early, depending on how you want to spin it, but I have been fucking _desperate_ to write this chapter, oh my god. For something that was started to satisfy my SasuNaru feels, this has taken a damned long time to work itself around to anywhere near that goal. Fuck, I need to learn to write better plots. *headdesk*

* * *

_**Stormborn**_

_Chapter Fourteen, Second Movement: Sonatina for the Sleepless, Stretto_

_[Sonatina: A short or brief sonata._

_Stretto: Pertaining to the fugue, the overlapping of the same theme or motif by two or more voices a few beats apart.]_

'_You're going to do something reckless aren't you_,' Kurama huffs. Despite the phrasing, it's not actually a question.

Naruto rolls his eyes, adding one final line to the seal carved into the tree trunk in front of him. There are six more seals, six more trees set in a circle with Naruto's seals on the side of the trunk facing out. After so many times going over this in his head—secret from Haku, from Gaara, from Utakata and anyone else who might feel the need to point out all of the risks even when Naruto has thought of every single one already—it was barely the work of ten minutes to set up the barrier. More of Saehara-sensei's favored mood modifiers, combined with seals to affect the mind and redirect attention elsewhere. _Don't look,_ is the message they give. _Don't look, don't pause, there's nothing to see._

"Reckless implies that I haven't considered all possible outcomes," he points out, grateful for the lack of company that lets him answer aloud without feeling like a schizophrenic. "Come on, I even got Orochimaru to distract Ero-Sennin! That's forward thinking, thank you."

'_No, reckless implies that it's a stupid plan with too many variables and dumb risks involved,'_ Kurama counters. _'And the Snake is and always will be a creep.'_

"Did you and Haku trade off on babysitting duty or something?" Naruto grumbles, sliding through the barrier and reaching for the sealing scroll he keeps in his left sleeve. A single drop of blood and then a heavy wooden shaft settles in his hand, the butt capped with iron and the other end topped with forty centimeters of perfectly honed blade, the steel shining blue in the moonlight. Arashi's naginata, Sāji, recovered from the ruins as they rebuilt, and Naruto welcomes it to his hand like an extension of his arm, sweeping it out in a wide circle and allowing himself one flamboyant spin over his head before he resettles his grip with a grin.

The naginata is considered a woman's weapon, primarily, but Naruto—like Arashi—isn't exactly a towering specimen of masculine stature and strength. He's honestly kind of short, and he'll never have Sasuke or Kakashi's reach. Quick and tricky and unpredictable are his biggest assets, and Sāji amplifies all of that. It fits his hand, fits his fighting style, keeps him at a distance so he can make use of his chakra reserves and hammer an opponent with jutsus, but also allows him to duck in close enough to use seals, which can be laid with skin contact.

Four long sweeps of the capped butt and a design is taking place on the packed earth, cleared of leaf-fall for this reason. It's large, almost two meters across, but deceptively simple. Once Naruto activates it, it will start bleeding a specific type of chakra into the air—chakra tied to _him_, but in amounts just small enough that not even the Hyuuga Clan will notice it. There are ten days until the first of the month, ten days until the Chuunin Exams start, and that means he has seven days before it's time to activate the transportation seals he carried here with him, allowing the four teams to pass through to Konoha.

Seven days—ten at the very most—to find evidence of what Danzo's hiding and deliver it to Tsunade tied up with a big red bow.

Seven days. Of course he's going to be reckless. But Haku is out of the line of fire, and everyone else vulnerable is still safely tucked away behind Uzushio's nearly unbreakable barrier. He's got room for recklessness, now, even if he hasn't since he first became Uzukage.

A step back lets him take in the entirety of the design, the outer boundary complete. It's done in broad strokes, thick twisting lines through the dirt, and with a satisfied nod Naruto flips Sāji over to use the long blade for the intricate detail work necessary for the interior.

'_Not to underestimate the old geezer, but don't you think this is a bit…excessive?'_ Kurama questions, gruff but interested. There's a slight flare of chakra that means he's looking through Naruto's eyes, studying the design of the seal.

"There's no kill like overkill," Naruto counters cheerfully, flickering through the lines needed for the output template and starting on the conversion matrix. There's no hesitation, no pause—he's had this all laid out in his head for weeks now. "Besides, Danzo has all of Root. I've got a grumpy demon fox, a couple of jutsus, and some seals. It's always good to have other options."

'_You make it sound like you actually think out plans beyond just _attack relentlessly until it's dead. _Or, barring that, _talk until it regrets its whole life and repents.'

"Don't act like you're not a part of this decision-making process, Kurama. If you don't like my plans you're more than capable of speaking up. And wasn't it you egging me on last time we were on a mission?"

Kurama huffs haughtily. _'I am a wise and noble spirit of power, taught by the Sage of Six Paths himself. I've got much better things to do with my time than critique your so-called _plans_, Fishcake.'_

"Don't call me Fishcake, bastard! At least I'm not scared of a _girl_."

'_I'm sorry to be the one to break this to you, brat, but your mother is a monster. The fact that you _aren't _scared of her, even her _chakra impression_, just means that it's genetic. Or catching._'

"Kurama! Stop making my mother sound like some kind of disease!"

* * *

The feel of the chakra, tightly contained and tamped down as it is, is a nostalgic one, as familiar as his childhood. Jiraiya follows it, because that's what he's always done, follows it past the Hokage Mountain and into the cool of the nighttime woods. There's a flicker ahead of him, cream-colored cloth half-covered by long black hair, pale skin in the moonlight, and Jiraiya picks up his pace until he's nearly running through the darkened trees.

It's not necessary, though. When he bursts into a clearing, one step away from calling up calling up a toad and preparing for combat, he finds Orochimaru waiting. The Snake Sage is seated on a boulder in the faint half-light, no weapons or summons to be seen, and he looks almost…peaceful.

Jiraiya hasn't seen him look peaceful in a very, very long time. Twisted or cunning or furious or murderous, yes, but never like this, not since well before he fled the village. Never at ease the way he is now. It's…staggering.

"Jiraiya," Orochimaru says softly, inclining his head as though it's absolutely normal for them to run across each other just a mile from Konoha's walls.

"…You're a long way from Rice Country, Orochimaru," Jiraiya says at length.

Orochimaru doesn't move, doesn't even rise though he would most certainly be at a disadvantage here if Jiraiya chose to attack. "I have information I wished to pass on to you, and I assumed it would be easier for you to believe me if I delivered it in person."

Jiraiya thinks he is entirely entitled to the flatly skeptical look he levels at his former teammate.

In response, Orochimaru rolls his eyes in that supercilious, arrogant gesture that always drove Jiraiya nuts when they kids. He sighs, incredibly put-upon, and offers, "You've been tracking Akatsuki since I left, Jiraiya, but you've never gotten anywhere. You don't even know the leader or where they're based. But I have been…convinced that it would be beneficial if I were to share what I know."

It's funny that, for someone as quiet as Orochimaru always has been, Jiraiya's never heard him use five words when twenty would do. With an eye-roll of his own, he takes four deliberate steps closer and says dubiously, "Oh really?"

Orochimaru looks at him for a long moment, golden eyes calculating, and then huffs grandly, like the dramatic bastard he is, shakes back one of his long sleeves, and offers Jiraiya his hand, palm up. Jiraiya gives him a wary look, but takes another two steps forward.

It's just a hand, slender and long-fingered and elegant, with the callouses that any shinobi worth their kunai has. The moonlight is bright enough for Jiraiya to pick out the faint discoloration of scars, and one scar in particular—a long, narrow slash from the center of Orochimaru's palm that runs all the way up to the middle of his forearm, just missing the major veins in his wrist. That, too, is utterly familiar, a souvenir from one of their first missions as chuunin, but Jiraiya hasn't actually seen it in years now. He narrows his eyes in suspicion, then glances up at Orochimaru with something akin to disbelief bubbling in his chest. Surely it's not—

"My original body, yes," Orochimaru says, because he's a bastard and has always made a game of defying Jiraiya's expectations, good or bad. "There was…a lack of suitable hosts, last time I required one, and our darling Uzukage managed to get out of my minions that I had preserved this one. He stuffed me back in it, sealed my soul here, and…informed me of the error of my ways." He withdraws his hand with a faint grimace. "The man is absolutely ridiculous—just as much as he was when we were children."

Jiraiya's knees feel suspiciously unsteady. He takes a deep breath and sinks to the ground, settling cross-legged and dragging a hand over his face. "…Arashi?" he asks after a pause.

Orochimaru arches one elegant brow at him. "He's hardly gone to pains to hide it, I imagine. But yes, the Arashi you remember is currently in charge of Uzushio." He hesitates, noticeable in that he _never_ hesitates, and then says carefully, "I have…been reminded that my original goals are still within reach, and rather more…plausible than I had come to think."

Holding a conversation with Orochimaru is and always has been an exercise in hearing things unsaid and reading between the lines. Jiraiya frowns, sorting through things. He knows Orochimaru's original goals—he wanted to live to see his parents reincarnated. That fell by the wayside years ago, though, his hopes of predicting or identifying reincarnations lost to lack of concrete evidence, but—

But Uzumaki Arashi is still in charge of his village, even though the whole world thought him dead. But Orochimaru believes in reincarnation again, _really_ believes in it if this apparent peace with himself is anything to go by, and there's only one conclusion Jiraiya can draw from that.

He breathes out, long and slow, and resists the urge to pinch himself. This is just…surreal. "I'd accuse you of pulling my leg, but I don't think even you have enough imagination for something like this. Damn."

Orochimaru inclines his head, and if Jiraiya didn't know better he'd say that there was a faint, wry smile tugging at one corner of his mouth—another reminder of their childhood, of simpler times. And maybe Jiraiya should be more doubtful, maybe he should take a step back and a step away, but the Orochimaru in front of him right now has lost the overtones of madness that he's been carrying for decades. There's no edge of manic anger, no thread of insanity in golden eyes, and while maybe it's not alright, not even close—_Sarutobi-sensei_, he thinks, with a pang and a bite of furious, grudging hurt—it's…better. Better than it has been in a long time.

Jiraiya can work with better.

"Right," he says firmly, shaking off his thoughts and focusing on the man in front of him. "You said you had information about the Akatsuki?"

Orochimaru's eyes seem to glow in the darkness as he slides off his boulder, settling on the ground across from Jiraiya. Moonlight catches on the planes of his face, the curve of one ear, glitters over the tomoe-shaped earring there and then slides like liquid silver across the uninterrupted darkness of his hair. "Yes," he says, and that's the Orochimaru Jiraiya remembers from missions as a child, as a teenager, before Dan and Nawaki's deaths, Tsunade's departure, and Sarutobi picking Minato as his successor broke some thread of sanity within him. Languid and deadly as a viper, fiercely focused even though he hides it behind a smirk and a slanted look.

"Tell me, Jiraiya, what do you know about Uchiha Madara?"

* * *

Sasuke wakes to a sky already covered by encroaching clouds, low and heavy, and the taste of coming rain like quicksilver on the back of his tongue. The air is still and muggy, humid enough to leave him feeling irritable and miserable in equal measure. For a very long moment, he debates the merits of simply not leaving his bed until nightfall, shift at the Missions Assignment Desk be damned, but then he recalls that he's still paired with Ino, and she will _never_ let him get away with skipping out. Not only that, but she'll hunt him down, drag him out into the street in his boxers, and proceed to gleefully torture him until he repents the great sin of abandoning her to an entire shift of mind-numbing boredom.

Sometimes, Sasuke thinks longingly of the days when her only goal in life was pleasing him.

With a sigh and a grimace, Sasuke gives in to the inevitable and levers himself out from underneath the sweat-sticky sheet, tossing it back and stalking his way to the bathroom for a quick, cold shower. The rush of water is a small relief that's over too soon, and he forgoes his usual uniform for a dark blue tank top under his jounin vest and his lightest pair of pants.

Damn it. He _hates_ humidity.

Even coffee is too much heat to bear, and he putters around the kitchen for a moment, at a loss for what to do with the extra twenty minutes not making it gives him. Once Sasuke catches himself stuffing his head in the freezer for the third time, though, he reluctantly skulks out of his apartment, joining the morning crowd on the streets. His bare ANBU tattoo gets him a few extra looks, as does the tank top, but Sasuke ignores the gawkers with the ease of long practice as he heads for the Yamanaka flower shop.

He's halfway there when a peal of gut-wrenchingly familiar laughter freezes him in his tracks.

Sasuke very nearly staggers, hearing that sound. It's like his legs have been cut out from under him, like gravity has suddenly spun away beneath his feet and all that's left is a tearing, aching _recognition_ that goes soul-deep and then boils upwards to his heart. Because for nearly seven years now he's been listening for that exact same laugh _everywhere_, on every mission and in every place he's ever visited. It's haunted him more than Itachi's last words that night, more than his brother's shadow in the village. More than standing before the shrine ever has, because _it's Naruto_ and how can it not?

He jerks around towards the source of the sound, heart beating a double-time tattoo in his chest as he scans the street for spiky blond hair and tanned skin and—

There, a flash of gold, but it's about three shades too pale, the skin three shades too dark, and how in the name of all things sacred does _Youko_ have _Naruto's laugh_?

_Dreaming_, Sasuke tells himself sharply. _You're dreaming. Or you've gone insane. It can't—_

But then it comes again, bright and loud and freer than anything else could ever be, just the way Sasuke remembers it, except that the one it's coming from is Youko, and that's impossible. Absolutely impossible, because Youko carries himself differently, doesn't blurt out his thoughts or recklessly charge forward or grin naively at everything under the sun. He doesn't scratch the back of his head in sheepish embarrassment when Sasuke arches a brow at him, or puff up in indignation under Tsunade's skeptical eyes, doesn't sling an arm around Sasuke's shoulders in uncomplicated friendship the way _no one else_—

It's not Naruto. But—

But he's talking to Iruka. He's talking to Iruka like they're old friends, standing off to one side of the street and tucked back between two stores' displays. Iruka is in uniform, like always, and Youko is sporting another short kimono, this time in a bright sea blue, but the blond is wearing it…differently. Just slightly, and it's nothing Sasuke would have noticed without something else to draw his attention, but…he can't help but be reminded of the time Sakura dragged him to a festival and Naruto tagged along. They had played games and relaxed—as much as Sasuke ever allowed himself to relax, then—and for a very, very brief handful of hours they had been children instead of shinobi.

Naruto had worn a kimono, clearly secondhand and even more clearly borrowed from Kiba, if the light covering of dog hair was any indication, and he'd looked…_easy_. Not like Sasuke would have expected him to look, given that it was his first time wearing formal clothes. The way he'd moved, the way he'd held himself, it had spoken of innate grace all too rarely seen. Economy of motion and an understanding of his own body that no genin had.

When he first arrived, Youko had carried himself rather like Kakashi, languid and at ease and carefree, but only on the surface. Beneath the façade had been tension and hesitation and wariness, just what Sasuke would have expected from a foreign nin approaching a power with whom their welcome was uncertain. Now, though…

Now Youko moves like Naruto did that night. Sasuke can see it in the flicker of his hands as he talks, the tilt of his head as he ostensibly grins up at the chuunin. He pinpoints it in the shift of his feet before he takes a step, the way a hand casually brushes the long blond hair—_sun,_ Sasuke thinks, and feels like the world's greatest fool for not _seeing_ earlier. _Sun and light reflecting off water and how much faster would that make a person's skin dark? How much faster would that be at bleaching a person's hair three shades lighter? How much of a change would that make after almost seven years of constant exposure?_—out of his face and touches the back of his head, a shadow of the familiar motion Sasuke has sought in crowds time and again.

How much of Youko's careful, diplomatic poise was an act? How much was affected, just to further distance him from the rambunctious blond who disappeared? Who disappeared with _Haku_, and then returned with _Yuki_, and damn it all, but Sasuke is _ANBU._ He's supposed to be _smarter_ than this.

Another laugh, a tip of Youko's head, and—

_Youko_, Sasuke thinks, and the pieces are falling together—more than falling, they're flying into place like kunai hurled at a target. _What was it he said, when Ino asked him about his name? Youko is a girl's name, _among other things._ Youko. Fox spirit. Kitsune. The _Kyuubi _no Kitsune. Gods damn it, the only way he could have been more blatant about it was if he actually _called_ himself _Fox.

He hadn't even admitted to being an Uzumaki until his persona was firmly established in everyone's mind. And Sasuke had _fallen_ for it, had fallen for green eyes because he'd been so set on seeing blue, so set on _finding_ Naruto that he hadn't even realized that Naruto had waltzed into Konoha _literally under his nose_.

(That, at least, gets a brief flutter of smugness. Sasuke's still taller than him by a few good inches. Petty, perhaps, but ultimately all the more satisfying. Sasuke's never claimed to be overwhelmingly mature.)

The world spins, steadies, and Sasuke takes a breath.

Youko is Naruto. All that careful sidestepping in their conversation above the market, the ever-present mask—that was because _Youko is Naruto_.

His heart is very, very close to beating right out of his chest. It feels as fast as a hummingbird's wings, but Sasuke is entirely steady, gravity returned, grounded by the sudden, staggering, overwhelming surge of _elation_. Joy and sweeping satisfaction and enough glee to practically choke him, all tied up and knotted together with the knowledge that _this is Naruto_.

Naruto, who has spent the last seven years building a village that at least five jinchuuriki call home. Who has _another_ home that isn't Konoha, but that matters so blindingly little right now that Sasuke can hardly even bring himself to think of it.

_Because Naruto is here_.

He wants to march over there, interrupt their conversation and place himself squarely in the center of Naruto's attention. Wants to grab Naruto by the collar of that deceptively neat kimono and punch him in the face, except that he's too happy for a reaction like that. Wants to grab him by the collar and drag him close and—

Kiss him. Sasuke wants to kiss him, wants to grab him and never let him go, wants to shake him and hug him and hit him and just _touch him._ Because all Sasuke has wanted since that awful, hideous morning waking up in the hospital to _Naruto's gone_ is for Naruto to come back, and he…

He has.

He _has._

Heedless of the crowd around him, of the humidity, of _everything_ beyond the brilliant blond, glowing with life and enthusiasm and standing just thirty feet away, Sasuke tips his head back to the sky and closes his eyes tightly, just for a moment. Just for a second, while he doesn't know whether to grin or laugh or cry or rage, Sasuke looks away.

And then he looks back, because he turned his face away once and his world shattered.

Never again.

_Never._


	15. 2nd Movement: Reminiscence, Rubato

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Introspection, slight language, yet more dork!Sasuke, etc.

**Word Count: **~3800

**Pairings: **Sasuke/Naruto, some more faint Jiraiya/Orochimaru. Still vaguely sorry, but not enough to relinquish one of my top three favorite Naruto pairings. :P

**Cowriter/idea guru: **EmeraldBenu (\o/)

**Disclaimer: **I don't hold the copyrights, I didn't create them, and I make no profit from this.

**Notes: **Yeah, this is tomorrow's update, but my schedule is still screwy, and at this time tomorrow I'm going to be halfway to Heathrow. Yay for last-minute conference invitations, right? Hopefully I'll be able to get back to regular Tuesday posts next week, but no promises. RL is insane. :/

Also, my computer seems to be having seizures, so this was written on my phone, which thinks English is me being dumb and unable to spell. So, errors. You will find them. I apologize. orz

* * *

_**Stormborn**_

_Chapter Fifteen, Second Movement: Reminiscence, Rubato_

_[Rubato: An important characteristic of the Romantic period. It is a style where the strict tempo is usually abandoned for a more emotional tone.]_

Sasuke may not be the particular brand of genius that created a new style of clone at the age of twelve, but he is at least above average with Shadow Clones. It's easy enough to leave a bunshin with Naruto—who is already being stalked by a whole ANBU squad, and likely won't notice one more body among the press, or will dismiss it if he does—and split off, heading deeper into the village.

He's reeling, but at the same time he's…not. In fact, a good portion of him is steadier than he has been in nearly seven years. _Over,_ he thinks, _my search is over_, and for all that he's never wavered in his resolve it's still absolutely astonishing that he's _succeeded_. That he's _found Naruto_.

Or, well, that Naruto has come back entirely of his own volition and with no influence from Sasuke at all, no matter how much that fucking _stings_, but it's all the same in the end, right?

It's fine. It doesn't matter. There's no reason to think about that, and a thousand and one reasons to think about _why_. _Why_ Naruto has chosen to come back this way, secret and surreptitious and hidden from absolutely everyone when the bright eleven-year-old who left was so very ready to declare himself, ready to do whatever it took for the recognition that should have been his by virtue of _human_, let alone a Konoha shinobi. And yes, Sasuke can still find it in himself to be bitter about that, because—

Because he remembers his father, remembers Itachi, who was the epitome of the perfect Uchiha, the perfect brother. And Sasuke, no matter how smart or skilled or advanced for his age, was never anywhere close to good enough. Never good enough to rival him, to earn their father's attention, or anything more from the man than a few dismissive words. None of Sasuke's family were perfect, not really, and though it took quite a lot of agonizing and soul-searching and forcing himself to face the _actual_ memories rather than the idealized versions, Sasuke has come to accept that fact. Even if Itachi—

_Breathe_, Sasuke reminds himself, coming to an abrupt halt on the rooftop overlooking an apartment building's entrance. _Think. Naruto is here. He's up to something, something he doesn't want anyone to know about. Or he's hiding from someone. Not Uzushio, because no one would fake that much attachment to a place just for a cover. So…_

So he's hiding from someone who's probably in Konoha. It's not a joke or a prank, not with so much effort put into the disguise, the act, the careful distance, the claims of being old enough to know Kakashi's father.

Even if Uzushio is, as Sakura so helpfully informed him during their binge, nicknamed the Village of Longevity, that's still a fairly outlandish claim to make, and Sasuke files it away for future consideration. Right now, the matter at hand is whoever Naruto is so wary of—and this is _Naruto_, who charged the Demon Brothers without hesitation, who faced down _Momochi_ _Zabuza_ on their first mission out of the village, who has always been reckless beyond any boundaries of sense—and how much of a threat they likely are to him.

Of Konoha now or not, Sasuke is not about to let _any_ harm come to Naruto. Not unless Sasuke is the one doing the harming, and he's still divided on whether punching or kissing the moron is more appealing.

Possibly, he's hiding his identity because the people of Konoha are still pretty much collectively brain-dead assholes and he's the Kyuubi jinchuuriki, but Sasuke doesn't think so. After all, Naruto has never pandered to them and their prejudices before. His years away aren't likely to have given him reason to, especially not if he's been living in a village with four other jinchuuriki. It's equally unlikely that it's a _personal_ threat, because Sasuke knows Naruto—that would just send him out into the open, somewhere between epic showdown, convenient distraction, and playing bait. What he _doesn't_ know is Uzushio's political climate, its history in any sort of detail, and possible threats against it.

So that's back to square one again, then. Sasuke restrains a frustrated huff and rakes a hand through his hair. Well, at least he knows what questions he's going to ask when he decides to confront and/or corner Naruto.

A flash of color from below draws Sasuke's attention, and he makes a chakra-assisted bound from the roof to land lightly in front of his former genin teammate.

"Sakura," he says, rising to his feet and fixing her with his best approximation of Ino's killer puppy eyes. (Not that he expects it to work, honestly. Reactions to that expression on his face vary from laughter—Ino—to horror—Jiraiya—to deadpan disbelief—Shikamaru, and that was an _accident_, Sasuke totally did not mean to give him that look no matter _what_ Ino implies.) "Are you free? I need a favor."

Unlike in their genin days, when she would have fallen over herself to agree—or possibly used it as leverage to get a date, because Sakura has always been unexpectedly devious—Sakura looks entirely unimpressed. She gives him a flat stare, crossing her arms over her chest and arching one politely incredulous brow in a manner most definitely learned from her teacher.

"Really," she says blandly.

That's definitely not her encouraging tone of voice. Nevertheless, Sasuke is a shinobi of Konoha and doesn't back down even in the face of slim-to-none odds. He nods and forges on. "Can you cover my shift at the Mission Assignment Desk? I need to do some digging."

A week ago, Sakura would have refused out of hand, writing it off as another display of Sasuke's obsession with finding Naruto. Now, with the truth of Uzushio undeniable and a solid lead in the form of its ambassador—and gods, but Sasuke looks back on his conversation with Naruto in the marketplace and just wants to laugh, because _honestly_—she gives him a carefully considering look, and then narrows her eyes.

"Sasuke," she says warningly, "if this is like that time with the brothel in Hot Springs Country—"

"_No_," Sasuke bites out, horrified by the very implication. "And why would you even _bring that up_? I thought we agreed never to—"

"_Decreed_, decreed is the word you're looking for, Sasuke. You _decreed _that we were never going to talk about it again, and I distinctly remember _not_ agreeing at any point in the conversation—"

"That's _not the point—_"

"It is a totally real and valid point if I'm going to have to bail you out _yet again_, Sasuke. Neji would not look at me without snickering for _three months_. _Ice Prince _Neji. Do you know how absolutely _humiliating_ that is? I swear, Kiba _still_ sniggers whenever anyone so much as _mentions_ beeswax, and if I'm going to be permanently mentally scarred from this 'digging' you're doing I think it's absolutely fair that I know beforehand so I can brace myself."

So maybe there's a reason Sakura more than any of the Konoha Twelve is tired of Sasuke's endless searching for Naruto. Sasuke crosses his arms—_not_ defensively_, _damn it—and meets her stare as evenly as he's able while still preparing himself to dodge any incoming blows. Sakura has her hands on her hips and an expression promising divine retribution should he attempt to give her anything less than the full truth.

"In-village," he promises, because he's fairly certain Naruto isn't going anywhere outside of it, not with Haku gone. "It's just information gathering."

"That's what you said about the time with the mistress of the Bird Country Daimyo," Sakura mutters, but Sasuke pretends momentarily deafness in her direction. It's generally a fairly effective tactic.

"Ino is the other jounin on shift," he offers in a last-ditch attempt at persuasion.

Sakura holds out for another seven seconds before she gives in with a huff and a sharp roll of her eyes. "Great," she mutters. "Awesome. We can bitch about you and your lack of life and social skills together."

Sasuke winces, but, well, that's more or less what he expected. If ever he missed their mindless fangirl devotion—

But then Sakura steps forward, raps her knuckles lightly against the side of his head with a fond smile, and mutters, "Well? Get going, jerk," and Sasuke remembers exactly why he doesn't. Because as they are now—

Yeah. It's…pretty much perfect, no matter how much he might complain.

With a sharp "Hn," to cover up whatever mushiness might be showing on his face, Sasuke jerks away, spins around, and leaps for the roofs again, ignoring his friend's laughter rising behind him as he goes.

* * *

Tsunade watches the children play in the park, leaning against the wide windows of her office with her head tipped to rest against the cool smoothness of the glass. There's a group playing tag, and another huddled around a familiar figure in a chuunin vest. Sarutobi Konohamaru and his usual gaggle of devoted followers, and Tsunade can't help but smile at the sight, recalling her trip back to Konoha with Naruto and his bright smile and his boasts about how he'd taken on a minion who called him "boss". In the last near-seven years, Konohamaru has carried on his legacy, pranks and all.

(Although, Tsunade suspects, given her ANBU's eternal aggravation at their failure to catch the culprit, Konohamaru isn't the only one making mischief. Not that she's going to say anything about that. It's always good to keep them on their toes.)

Tsunade loves Konoha, loves it dearly even as she resents it fiercely. It's her home, but it's also a reminder of every loss she's ever suffered, from her parents to Nawaki right up to Naruto just when she finally had hope of her curse being broken. And maybe Naruto isn't dead, maybe he's simply _gone_ the way Sasuke so fervently believes, but Tsunade…misses him. Misses the little boy who mastered the Rasengan in a handful of days, mastered it and went beyond that until he could meet Orochimaru in a fight and give even the Snake Sage pause. Misses his optimism and his smile and the way he looked at her, the way Nawaki did, the way she's sure her and Dan's children would have, had they ever been given the chance to have any.

And for all her professed cynicism and attempts to be entirely realistic, Tsunade can't help but image that Naruto is somewhere…kind right now. Somewhere that they love him, appreciate him the way none of Konoha's people never managed beyond a sparse handful. She imagines a family for him, friends, a home, and it makes her smile to think of it. It's…good.

A sharp rap on the door pulls her from her thoughts, and she glances up with a curious, "Enter." It's already getting late, the sun descending behind the thick blanket of clouds, and she _knows_ there are no more meetings scheduled. She doesn't even have any paperwork left, thanks in part to Shizune helping her blaze through the last few stacks. They're both ready for a night off, after all.

There's a pause, a hesitation, and then Jiraiya steps through the door. That alone makes Tsunade arch a brow and push away from the glass, because she can't remember the last time Jiraiya actually used a door rather than the window. He looks tired, too, exhausted but also tense, nerves humming with tension as he strides over to the desk, his geta clacking loudly in the silent room. No bruises that she can see, no shortened movements that speak of pain, but—

But.

"Jiraiya?" she asks, and her voice is Hokage-sharp, because it's clear this is her top jounin, her spymaster, rather than her teammate and childhood friend.

Jiraiya gives her a faint, wan smile, but doesn't relax, doesn't unbend even though he'd usually be sprawled all over the chair by now. "Tsunade," he returns. "I'm…going to be out of the village for a few days."

They're coming up on Konoha's first hosting of the Chuunin Exams since the disastrous attempted invasion seven years ago. Konoha is strong, true, but so are the other nations, and with the world's current lack of outright warfare all the stops are going to be pulled for this event. It's a mostly-harmless way to work out some rivalries, after all, and a perfect platform for Kage grandstanding. Tsunade needs all of her jounin present, and is just opening her mouth to remind Jiraiya of this when he raises a hand to stop her, shaking his head.

"It's about Akatsuki," he says, and she stays silent. "This morning I met with a contact who managed to infiltrate their base. With his information, there's enough to make a first move, and since their attention will be elsewhere at the moment, I need to take the chance."

With a soft sigh, Tsunade returns to her chair, sinking into the comfortable-but-not-comfortable-enough seat and giving Jiraiya her full attention as she steeples her fingers in front of her. "It's not that simple," she objects. "Jiraiya, we're pushed to the edge of our manpower as it is, between preparing for the Exams and running routine missions. I can't afford to send another jounin with you, and it would be a death sentence to ask a chuunin to go, even one of the elites. And you're _not_ going alone—that's suicide."

It is…not surprising that Jiraiya doesn't even look fazed. She's known him since they were both brats, and Jiraiya has never, ever been accommodating to the idea of backup. He just waves a hand, brushing off the notion and offering her a grin that shouldn't be nearly as carefree as it is. "Not to worry, hime, my informant's coming with me."

As a shinobi, as a _Kage_, Tsunade knows very well what type of people usually end up selling information—especially valuable, sensitive, dangerous information like this—to the Hidden Villages, and they're generally either desperate for money or angling for something. On top of that, there are always even odds that such information is wrong, or deliberately false, or being supplied by the subject to maneuver Konoha into a trap. But, no matter how well Tsunade knows this, Jiraiya knows it even more, and she can see the determination written into every line of his features.

She wonders, sometimes, how her life would be different if Jiraiya had only a normal amount of stubbornness, rather than the unearthly amount he's apparently been gifted with.

"Do you trust them?" Tsunade asks evenly, and that's the million-ryo question, isn't it? It's also one that, in the shinobi world, can rarely be answered with _yes_. "Jiraiya, you're going to be _taking on the Akatsuki_. Do you trust this informant to have your back even in that situation?"

Jiraiya pauses, turning the matter over in his mind. Part of Tsunade is glad that he's thinking it over, but another part is deeply worried that he isn't able to answer immediately.

At length, Jiraiya smiles. Just faintly, and with something held back, but…he smiles. It's warm and happy and enthusiastic, and Tsunade hasn't seen its like in years. Not since Naruto completed and perfected the Rasengan and then vanished. "Yeah," he says, meeting her eyes squarely. "I can trust him. And besides, I wouldn't want anyone else on this mission, hime. Stealth is going to get us a lot further here than busting down the front door. Even I'm not reckless enough to go after the entire organization head-on. We'll slip in through a side door he knows while they're all in the base, take out as many as we can before they raise the alarm, and then get the hell out of there before they can retaliate. These are all S-class nin, but together and with enough planning, I think we can outmaneuver them."

An informant who has been inside the Akatsuki headquarters, who is powerful enough that Jiraiya feels confident going after eight impossibly strong and ruthless shinobi with him, whom Jiraiya trusts but not blindly, whose name he won't tell her—really, there aren't many people that could be, and Tsunade bites her lip in tightly contained worry. But for all of Orochimaru's evil, despite everything he's done, Tsunade can still read him. Their encounter seven years ago, when he offered to bring Dan and Nawaki back—that was honest. And in him, Tsunade had seen something of the young boy terrified and furious in the face of loss, who wanted to make everyone around him immortal so that he'd never have to go through such a thing again.

People—herself included—always forget that underneath the monster there's a man. A shinobi who fought in two wars and was once one of Konoha's greatest weapons. They treated him like it, too, treated all of the Sannin like that, and though Tsunade had Dan to distract her, though Jiraiya had the Ame orphans and then Minato's team, Orochimaru—so very distant and reserved, so smart that he was on an entirely different level—Orochimaru had no one. Partly by his own choice, certainly, but also because he was terrifying and cold and so closely affiliated with his snakes that no one wanted to get close. And so no one did.

She hates him, yes. He killed Sarutobi and tried to destroy Konoha. He experimented on people and killed innocents and tried to play god. But she loves him too, loves the boy he was and the man he became, the friend and confidant and surrogate brother she lost so long ago.

But…perhaps he's not lost entirely, or at least not anymore.

There's a part of Tsunade—the wild, reckless, headstrong part that let her survive on a team with two of the greatest shinobi Konoha ever produced, let her survive and thrive and come into her own beside them—that wants to stand up and leave with Jiraiya, head off to wherever the Akatsuki are hiding positioned firmly between Jiraiya and Orochimaru, just the way she's supposed to be. To leave all of her responsibilities and duties and the low-level ache that Konoha brings with it and just…go. Re-forge her team, her _family_, from the ashes it's long since become. Surely, in the face of the Three Sannin, not even Akatsuki will stand a chance. Surely, together—like they always were meant to be—there's not a single obstacle that can stand before them.

She's the Hokage, though. Her face is carved into the mountain, looking down on the village that's hers to protect, and if she's ever been anything, Tsunade is loyal. All her life she's been loyal to her ideals, peace and justice and salvation even if she has to fight and kill for them. For thirty years she's been loyal to Dan's memory, to the love they shared. For seven years she's been loyal to her village as only its figurehead can be, and she can't abandon that.

Moreover, Shizune and Sakura would probably hunt her down and drag her back by her hair.

With a soft, resigned, partially amused huff, Tsunade riffles through a cabinet for a mission form, fills out the necessary details entirely by rote, and passes it off to Jiraiya. But when he tries to take it, she grips it tighter and makes him look at her squarely. "Just…be safe," she pleads. "Both of you."

Surprise flits over his lined face for a brief moment before it settles into a warm, affectionate understanding. "Of course," he answers with a grin. "We'll be back before you know it, hime."

It's what he used to say, back when they were children. He and Orochimaru both, fielding her worry with smiles and easy promises, coming home a thousand shades of battered but still going out again before they even healed entirely. Really, and people wonder why she's such a good medic-nin. It's solely because she had such excessive amounts of practice growing up.

With a sigh, Tsunade relinquishes the paper, watching Jiraiya scribble out the rest of the information, and then accepts it back and files it away. "Good luck," she says, trying for a smile of her own. It's out of practice, this particular shade of worried-but-hopeful-and-mostly-resigned, the same way she's out of practice of thinking of Jiraiya-and-Orochimaru the way they used to be, brawn and brains, brashness and cunning, a team rather than mortal enemies.

Jiraiya tosses her a salute and a cheeky wink before he's gone again, striding back out the doors and away into the quickly fading light.


	16. 2nd Movement: Two-Tone Rendezvous

**Rating: **T+

**Warnings: **Slight language, canon levels of violence, blatant slash, etc.

**Word Count: **~4800

**Pairings: **Sasuke/Naruto (Progressing! Finally!)

**Cowriter/idea guru: **EmeraldBenu (\o/)

**Disclaimer: **I don't hold the copyrights, I didn't create them, and I make no profit from this.

**Notes: **Omfg, this is the chapter that _would not die_. I almost chopped off the end to move to the next chapter, but then I considered the pitchfork- and torch-bearing mob that would likely result (you guys really don't like cliffhangers, do you?) and decided not to. So. Enjoy? Or something.

Also, apparently this wasn't understood earlier, but for those who think my depiction of Sakura is unrealistic and that she'll never be anything but a stupid annoying banshee/fangirl/whore, to use a few of the opinions I received…please. Get over it. Consider that this is several years further along than canon, and how much of a personality change she's already had _in _canon, _and_ that she's with Lee here (as in, has moved on from Sasuke), and then look at it again. Or just pick another fic, because this story is Sakura-friendly and _I don't fucking bash characters_. Okay? Okay. :)

(Hmm. I have an odd feeling that we've done this before. Déjà vu all over again, yeah?)

* * *

_**Stormborn**_

_Chapter Sixteen, Second Movement: Two-Tone Rendezvous _

_[Tone: The intonation, pitch, and modulation of a composition expressing the meaning, feeling, or attitude of the music.]_

"Airi, tighten it up! I may not be a kenjutsu expert but even I can tell when you're getting sloppy! Yuriko, stop wimping out halfway and follow through! Don't hesitate! Kenshin, are you a shinobi or a wallflower? Stop daydreaming, get in there, and help your teammates!"

Gaara remembers, if only vaguely, a time when Fū's default volume was not set on 'roar'. When she had first arrived, dragged into Uzushio only somewhat reluctantly by Naruto himself, she'd been bright and free-spirited and warily enthusiastic, but still…manageable. Mostly.

(In all honesty, she had taken to the freedom of Uzushio like a fish to water. Gaara is of the opinion that she has taken to it a little _too_ well. After all, she and Naruto get on like a house on fire—with massive destruction, many traumatized bystanders, and equal opportunity for excruciating death or eternal glory.

They're still never allowed to go on missions together _ever again_.)

Then Naruto had presented Fū to her genin team, and 'manageable' had gone out the window twenty seconds into team introductions. Fū has adapted, a full year after opening her mouth to greet her little squirts and being instantly drowned out by three very exuberant and exceedingly talkative eleven-year-olds. Now, instead of bubbling, she _bellows_.

Gaara's kunoichi genin, Aki, whirls past him, with Fū's kenjutsu expert, Airi, right on her heels. Both girls are spitting curses, and as Airi lunges with her long, black-painted tachi, Aki dives out of the way, nearly rolling into Gaara's legs before she gets far enough out of range to leap to safety. Gaara, well used to his student's single-mindedness in a fight, simply rolls his eyes, sets his feet, and says just slightly louder than his normal volume, "Aki, watch your surroundings."

"Sorry, sensei!" she calls back, though her grin is entirely unrepentant as she hurtles towards the tall rocks rising to their left.

Fū's remaining genin are facing off against Gaara's male students, both pairs putting on a decent show of teamwork, and Gaara feels safe enough to step back for the moment, settling beside a piece of twisted driftwood at the edge of the sand. Fū joins him after a second, throwing herself down in the sand and crossing her legs. She's smiling, bright and warm, and Gaara looks at her for several heartbeats before he turns his face away.

"They're doing well," she says, and there's a sweet sort of contentment in her voice. "I…When Naruto told me I was going to be a jounin sensei, I have to admit I thought he'd gone insane. Well, _more_ insane. But they're doing well. That's pretty cool, don't you think?"

Fū is a jinchuuriki just as Gaara is. Their pasts are similar, their burdens are the same. Never, ever before coming here, before meeting Naruto, would Gaara have thought that could be said of anyone with any measure of truth. But now—now he can't imagine having to do without it. Can't imagine having to go back to the way he was before, the life he lived then.

"Naruto is…always surprising," he allows after a beat. "But usually correct."

She laughs, reading between the lines to the '_I felt the same way'_ that Gaara doesn't say. "Yeah," she agrees, lifting her face to the sea-wind and taking a deep breath of salt air. "He's a crazy, tricky bastard, but that's why we love him." There's a pause, and then she huffs and leans back against the log, stretching her legs out in front of her and crossing her arms over her chest. "Damn it, but I can't wait until we head out. Six days is too long. Naruto's probably having all kinds of fun kicking the hornet's nest over there."

Privately, Gaara agrees, and has to wonder just how much of Konoha will still be standing when they arrive.

"OI, KENSHIN, KEEP YOUR EYES OFF THE BUTTERFLY AND _ON_ YOUR OPPONENT! FOCUS, DAMN IT!"

Gaara allows himself the faintest of smiles as Fū leaps to her feet, fuming, and stalks towards her genin, who go pale rather like an angry hurricane is bearing down on them instead of a petite kunoichi. Even Gaara's team is inching backwards, and he gladly leaves them to Fū's tender mercies, turning away to look out over the ocean as it rolls across the shore. The tide is coming in, and further out, just within the boundaries of Uzushio's perimeter barrier, a pair of fishing boats is being guarded by one of the chuunin teams. Despite the strength of the seals protecting the city, no one is taking chances with the Kiri ship still circling.

There's a glint in the sky, a luminescent shine, and what looks like a soap bubble descends towards the beach, shattering several yards above the sand and revealing Utakata. The man lands neatly, barely stirring the sand beneath him, and then strides towards Gaara. His customary serene expression is shaded towards grim, entirely unusual, and Gaara frowns as he rises to his feet.

"Utakata," he says expectantly.

Utakata inclines his head, then withdraws a message scroll from the sleeve of his yukata. "The falcon you sent to Naruto has returned," he answers. "I thought it best to notify you immediately."

His eyes narrowing in suspicion, Gaara accepts the missive and unrolls it, not at all comforted to see Haku's sharp, precise penmanship rather than Naruto's absentminded scrawl. The words are no comfort either, making his frown deepen and his fingers tighten on the paper. This…could be very bad indeed.

"Naruto sent Haku back," he says flatly, when he realizes that Utakata is still watching him closely. The _alone_ is only implied, but biting nevertheless. "He will reach the transportation seal at the border before ten, and asks that we be ready to bring him through." A quick check of the sun shows that it's just about time already—training has taken longer than he expected. Or maybe not, given Fū's involvement. She is…distracting.

But this—Naruto, in Konoha, facing down Danzo, _without support_—that's even worse.

Gaara has great respect for Naruto's strength. Naruto is not even nineteen yet and has rebuilt an entire Hidden Village, earned a title most ninja work their entire lives towards but never reach, gained allies in four of the world's most powerful shinobi, forged ties with the Raikage's little brother and top kunoichi _and_ the Sannin Orochimaru, recalled a scattered people, and mastered his own not-inconsiderable power. Regardless of his past life, regardless of his memories, what he's already done in his short existence is more than worthy of praise.

But Naruto is also a fool when faced with threats to those he cares about, and Konoha, for all its faults, holds all of those Naruto grew up with, fought alongside for the first twelve years of his life. He cares for them, and that will make him reckless.

Danzo is a dangerous enemy. If Naruto's not very, very careful, it will make him _dead_.

The delicate paper tears beneath his curling fingers, and Gaara takes a slow, careful breath, feeling his sand stir restlessly around him. As soon as he's sure of his control, he looks up to meet Utakata's gaze and nods once. "Fū is best with the seals, after Naruto," he says. "I will bring her. Would you escort our teams back to the village?"

"Of course." Utakata nods in return, then steps away, graceful and deft on the uneven ground, to where Fū is directing drills. She grins at him as he inclines his head to speak with her, then waves cheerfully and bounds away, back towards Gaara.

"You can open the connection?" Gaara asks, even as he calls up his sand and lets it swirl and harden beneath their feet.

Fū sniffs, lifting her nose in the air like she's offended, though Gaara can see the smile she's hiding. "Are you kidding? I've been stuck in the village for the last three months, thanks to the squirts and those maniacs running around the mainland. I have so much extra chakra right now I'm surprised it's not coming out my _ears_, and Chōmei is super restless. We can do it."

Gaara doesn't question her conviction, because she's very like Naruto in that regard—or, rather, she's some mystifying blend of Naruto and himself, boundless energy and cheer, but tempered by a jaded edge to her interactions with others and the mercilessness of a soul entirely used to being set alone against humanity.

"Naruto wants us to avoid Akatsuki for now," is all he says. "Any fight we go into with them must be on our own terms."

Fū makes a face, dropping down to sit cross-legged by Gaara's feet on the moving disc. "I was there for that lecture, too," she reminds him, running her fingers through her bright green hair. "From Naruto _and_ from Roushi."

Roushi had been…unhappy, to learn of Han's fate, suffered mere weeks before Naruto and Haku had arrived seeking him. Han and Yagura are, so far, the only jinchuuriki that Akatsuki have managed to take, thanks to Orochimaru's warnings and Kabuto's knowledge of their movements, but the organization is still very far from giving up. They've continued looking, and even though Uzushio's jinchuuriki still take missions, still act like the normal ninja that Uzushio lets them be, they're wary. None of them seek death. Not like that, not when they've finally found a place to call home without hesitation.

It could be far worse, though. Gaara, Haku, and Naruto had gone together, seeking Fū, and found her on the run from one of Akatsuki's pairs. Kakuzu and Hidan, Gaara remembers they were called. Against three furious jinchuuriki with a fair measure of control and an overprotective Hyoton user, they had lasted thirty minutes, if that. Quite clearly, their immortality was overrated.

The shinobi watching the wall wave as they pass over, and Fū waves back cheerfully, then leans back on her hands and smiles, surveying the city as it passes beneath them. Under the noon sun, the red roof tiles and golden-brown streets seems to glow, the white stone of the buildings a warm, bright contrast. There are people everywhere, civilians in bright robes and shinobi mixed in and around them, each sporting a headband with Uzushio's spiral. The midsummer air is warm, a breeze from the ocean just enough to keep it from being sweltering, and the smell of cooking food wafts up from the food stalls and homes. Gaara looks at it all, takes it in, and feels…content.

This is home.

The Administrative Center rises before them, the tallest building in Uzushio apart from the watchtowers on the wall, and Gaara guides them down, his disc of sand settling on the ground and then dispersing, sliding back into his gourd. Fū hops up with a lithe stretch and immediately makes her way to the darkly drawn seal in the center of the courtyard as Gaara follows at a careful distance. The seal is incredibly complex, Naruto's work and developed over the course of two lifetimes. It's large too, ten feet across, with every inch of it detailed. So much chakra is needed just to activate it that only a jinchuuriki can use it and survive.

But Uzushio, unlike every other nation, has an excess of jinchuuriki and feels no need to constrain itself to everyone else's limits.

Letting out a slow breath, Fū closes her eyes and calls up her chakra, letting it fill their air like the rattling hum of dragonfly wings at dusk. A kunai slides across her palm, deep red welling behind it, and she slaps a hand down on the outer rim of the seal, sending bright light racing over the lines until the entire array is luminescent. Gaara narrows his eyes, trying to see through the glare, and just manages to make out a figure in the midst of it. A bare second later, Haku is striding out of the seal, visor pushed up in his hair and face set in decidedly neutral lines, though there's a glitter of something like helpless frustration in his eyes.

Gaara knows the feeling very well, where Naruto is concerned.

"Gaara," Haku says politely. "I would like it noted that this was _not_ my idea."

Despite himself, Gaara snorts. He really hadn't thought so.

A small, reluctant smile pulls at Haku's mouth as some of the tension eases from his frame. He turns his attention away, offering Fū a polite nod and a hand to help her to her feet. She ignores it with a scoff, straightening and brushing of her skirt haughtily.

"Good to see you back in one piece, Frosty," she says with a grin. "It was nice and toasty without you here to bring down the temperature, you know. So toasty that Kiri decided to take advantage of it and pay us a visit."

Haku rolls his eyes at her, if only faintly. "Fū," he returns, longsuffering, and then glances back at Gaara. "I take it the Kiri ship is still present?"

"Yes." Gaara crosses his arms over his chest, fighting a frown. The shinobi aboard haven't made any move so far, not even so much as attempting to breach the barrier. If he were inclined to doubt Utakata's claim, he'd almost be convinced that the former Kiri nin was wrong.

But then, Utakata is clever and observant and, more importantly, Kiri trained, and Gaara trusts him. "You have leave to take a diplomatic team to confront them," he informs Haku, knowing full well that whatever team Haku assembles will likely be geared far less towards diplomacy and more towards a show of force. "People are…restless. It would be best to mobilize as soon as possible."

Haku's mouth tightens at that, his unhappiness with the situation clear. "I had hoped," he says with deceptive lightness, even as he checks his senbon pouches, "that Terumi Mei would prove herself cut from a different cloth than Yagura, especially without Tobi's influence. How disappointing."

Gaara considers reminding him that they have no idea as to Kiri's motives here. But Haku is angry at having to leave Naruto alone to face down a dangerous enemy in a foreign village—not that Gaara is much happier—and the words will likely fall on deaf ears. As Gaara isn't one to waste words that might be better spent elsewhere, he simply inclines his head, conceding the point.

"Do you still have enough chakra to be a part of the team?" Haku asks Fū, studying her closely for traces of chakra exhaustion.

The girl huffs and rolls her eyes at the hint of mothering, though her grin is bordering on bloodthirsty. "What do you take me for, Frosty? Just _try_ leaving me behind."

Haku nods, satisfaction settling just beneath his kind, placid mask, the very one that everyone in Uzushio has long learned not to take at face value. Haku is polite and careful and compassionate right up until he plants an ice needle in the enemy's throat, and sometimes even after that. He gives nothing away unless he has to, moves like a ghost, and never seeks glory in a fight. Gaara is…wary of him, if only vaguely, because after the way he was raised Haku has only the most abstract concept of _village_. Naruto is his home, and Naruto alone. He's loyal to all of them, to every person in Uzushio, but though Naruto will never, ever ask it of him, Naruto is the one he would kill for.

And this—protecting the village, keeping Uzushio's people safe—this is for Naruto.

Gaara understands the sentiment entirely.

* * *

Danzo is a goddamn paranoid bastard.

Naruto swears under his breath, flattening himself against the trunk of a tree, deep in the shadows, as an entire squad of Root shinobi dart past. Twenty false trails, thirty tries at misdirection to lead him to the wrong conclusion, two dozen guards on an innocuous little research station a league outside Konoha, but he got around them all. He _did it_, and the files he needed, the proof that Danzo has had dealings with everyone from Hanzō to Orochimaru to the shadowy leader of the Akatsuki, is all safely stored away in one of Naruto's seals. Years' worth of experimentation, dozens of shinobi conditioned to serve Danzo alone, shadowy missions from assassinations to retrievals—it's all here.

He's a thorough bastard too, at least. Meticulous in his record-keeping, and it's a relief the way few things have been. Naruto had been afraid that there _wouldn't_ be records, that there would only be a few shady files that didn't mean much of anything, despite all of Orochimaru's insistence to the contrary. But Danzo thinks he's the village's greatest defender, thinks he's doing the right thing, the _best_ thing as far as Konoha is concerned, and despite the fact that he operates in shadow there's a part of him—the part that looked to Sarutobi as a rival, that has tried for years to be named Hokage—that insists that he's a hero.

It's all documented. Right from the beginning, all of Root's missions and deeds, even their assassination attempt on the Sandaime and the attempt to maneuver Ame into a war against Iwa.

Right up to Danzo's deals with Kiri, information on Uzushio's forces and defenses in return for its destruction.

It makes Naruto sick, makes his stomach feel like it's filled with poisonous bugs, crawling and aching. So much death, so many lives ruined, and for what? _Why_? To keep Konoha strong? But it's always been the strongest shinobi village, has never lost a war or even a major battle. To keep the people safe? But how many of Konoha's own citizens would Danzo have sacrificed in the name of that? Would he have been satisfied and content to rule over an empty village?

Grinding his teeth and keeping a stranglehold on the angry red chakra that wants to escape him, Naruto chances a quick look at his surroundings and darts out of hiding, moving as fast as he can while still maintaining some level of stealth. He got into the base undetected, managed to gather all the files he needed and leave copies that will vanish in a few hours in their place, but on the way out he'd been spotted. One guard off the usual rotation, one moment of attention where it shouldn't have been, and all of his care had been for nothing.

But that doesn't matter. He's not going to get caught. Not now. Not like this, when he's so close to finally winning.

He is Uzushio's Storm God, has had two lives to build his skills and hone his power. If he wanted to, Naruto has little doubt that he could walk bare-faced into Danzo's home and kill him, just like that. No matter how many Root guards the man surrounds himself with, Naruto is fast and strong and has so very much anger and bottled rage that it would be _easy_.

But that's not revenge, that's _vengeance_. What Naruto wants is _justice_. He wants people to know who destroyed his village, and _why_. He wants them to look at Danzo and see the faces of hundreds of civilians, hundreds of shinobi killed because of one man. One man and his quest for power, for himself regardless of how he's claimed it's for Konoha. Innocents dead at _his hand_, people twisted and broken and pulled apart for his sick aims. Naruto wants everyone to know.

After that Tsunade can kill Danzo. After that, Naruto won't care. A waste of life, he thinks with some regret, because Danzo could have been _great_, but that's…not enough.

There are some lines that can't be crossed, and Danzo has crossed all of them, again and again.

No matter how much mercy there is in him, this man at least Naruto cannot forgive.

There's a cry from behind him, an alert, and Naruto curses under his breath, flipping over mid-leap to catch a kunai aimed at his back and then return it with interest. One of his pursuers falls, but Naruto doesn't rest on his laurels, palming a handful of senbon and darting between the remaining two. The long needles drive cleanly through flesh, not even drawing blood as the two shinobi fall into unconsciousness like their strings have been cut, and Naruto leaps away, taking to the trees again. He can feel more of them around him, the distracting buzz of their silencing seals like multiple burrs against his skin, but they haven't seen him yet, haven't found him, and—

A hand in the darkness, grabbing him by the shoulder and wrenching him around before he can react. Naruto slams into a tree trunk hard enough to make his teeth rattle, and is already lunging to drive a senbon into delicate vitals when his attacker grabs his wrists in both hands and forces his fingers open, pinning him bodily with his greater height and weight. With a snarl, Naruto is just about to call up his chakra, regardless of how he's refrained from using it—because water and wind aren't common in Konoha, and it will be all too easy for people to piece together the puzzle if he starts dropping clues like that—when he realizes just who it is restraining him, and his heart skips a beat.

Sasuke.

Sasuke, his dark eyes darker still in the shadows, his entire face a mask of pale fury as he snarls right back and slams Naruto up against the thick trunk. Another jarring shake and blond hair is cascading down from under its concealing hood and tumbling around Naruto's face, leaving no question that Sasuke will realize he's Youko if he hasn't already, and this whole day can just _go die already_, Naruto is through with it—

"_One reason_," Sasuke growls, and maybe it's Naruto's imagination, but he thinks he can see sparks of electricity around Sasuke's fingers where they're gripping his wrists. "Give me _one good reason_ why I shouldn't call them over here and let them take you, you damned _spy_."

Naruto's breath catches in his throat. This isn't how he wanted this to go. This isn't the situation he envisioned when he thought about Sasuke discovering his identity. But there's no choice. He's not going to hurt Sasuke—_can't_, he _can't_, they're friends or they were once, Sasuke has been _looking for him_, and to Naruto that _means something_—won't hurt him in order to get away, but he also can't risk Sasuke making good on his threat and calling in Root.

"All right," he says evenly, though his voice comes out hoarse and rough. "All right. You win. Just—let me?"

Sasuke's eyes narrow, but he lets go of Naruto's left hand. Slowly, making sure none of his movements can be construed as threatening, Naruto reaches up to his eyes and clumsily removes the colored contacts, blinking away the oddness of having them out as he carelessly lets them fall. It doesn't matter anymore, regardless.

A breath, and he glances at Sasuke, who's absolutely frozen, gaze fixed on his face. Another, and he hooks a finger in the top of his mask and slowly pulls it down, revealing six sharp whisker-marks that no one else in the world boasts.

Sasuke chokes on a breath, but his eyes flash with something like wild, savage satisfaction. The grip on Naruto's wrist tightens near to bruising, then goes slack. He makes some sound, something sharp and hurt and euphoric all at once and then lunges forward. Naruto flinches back, expecting a punch, a headbutt, a fireball to the face—anything, because Sasuke has been looking for him just shy of seven years, and surely, surely this is something to be _furious_ about.

What he gets is lips on his, tongue and teeth and heat and _want_, a kiss so hard that if it was any harder one of them would be bleeding. It's desire and satisfaction and fury and _I missed you, where were you, why did you leave me_ all wrapped up and tangled together until Naruto has to accept them all at once, can't pick them apart any more than that.

_Sasuke is kissing me_, Naruto thinks dazedly, even as his knees go weak, even as Sasuke pins him to the tree and meshes their lips together in a breathless hot slide and _takes_, and Naruto leans back into him and _gives_. Even as he grabs Sasuke's shoulders and yanks him closer, and really, he's _never_ thought of this before, never thought of doing this with _anyone_ even when he used to be obsessed with Sakura and dates.

But he _wants_, and that's more surprising than anything. _He wants Sasuke_. Wants him so much it's like an iron band around his lungs, like something burning in his chest. Like steel and silk and lightning overwhelming his senses all at once until there's nothing left around him but the smell of spring rains and the faintest hint of ozone, nothing but Sasuke's mouth searing-hot and devastating over his, their bodies perfectly aligned.

He wants, and he takes, like there's nothing else to worry about in the entire world. And Sasuke kisses him, breathes him in like a drowning man as his hands slide over every inch of Naruto's skin that he can reach, gives up everything and takes it in turn because that's how it's always been between them.

Naruto slides his fingers into Sasuke's soft hair, tips his head until their mouths fit together perfectly, and just that simply the kiss gentles, eases. A brush of lips, a slide of tongues that sends a small spark dancing down Naruto's spine, and he opens eyes he can't remember closing, breathes out long and shaky and slow as Sasuke reluctantly draws away. He doesn't go far, just rests their foreheads together and looks right back at Naruto, eyes dark and fathomless.

But just this once, with his hands in Sasuke's hair and the taste of Sasuke's lips on his, Naruto is fairly sure he can read him anyways.

"You _bastard_," he huffs, and if it comes out breathless and a little dazed, he thinks he can be forgiven. "You already _knew_."

And Sasuke just grunts out a sharp, careless, "Hn," but his eyes are laughing and his mouth is tilted up at the corners in a smile that is clearly at Naruto's expense.

The only option, obviously, is to kiss it away, and Naruto leans forward and does just that.


End file.
